


Double Crossing

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:** |   
accomplished  
---|---  
**Entry tags:** |   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
  
_**Double Crossing, 1/8**_  
**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 1 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)!

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
---  
  
**Chapter One**

 

Spike blew out a toxic cloud of smoke and flashed a bit of fang at the bartender, who’d been considering coming over and telling him to ditch the cigarette. The bartender scurried quickly in the other direction. Stupid California. Won’t let a bloke have a fag in peace, and yet true abominations, such as the one currently on stage, are allowed to carry on.

“That’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”

Spike did not startle in a most unvampire-like manner when the voice sounded above his shoulder. All right, perhaps he did, just a bit. But he’d been trying so hard to tamp down on his senses, to block as much of the horrible noise as possible, that he hadn’t heard the man sneak up on him.

Without turning, Spike replied, “That’s only because you haven’t seen him dance.”

The man chuckled and sat beside him. Spike took another long drag and, with his back still to his companion, said, “Heard you were dead.”

“That ain’t stopped you two. Why should I let it slow me down?”

Curiosity got the better of him. It always did. So he swiveled around and had another drag and took a good, long look at the man beside him. He appeared the same. Muscular. Slightly shaggy hair with the fringe hanging over his blue eyes. Worn jeans and a big, shiny belt buckle, gray shirt open at the neck. Cowboy boots with pointed toes.

“Death suits you,” he concluded, exhaling carcinogens into Lindsey’s face.

Lindsey smiled. “What _is_ that?” he asked, gesturing toward the stage.

Spike winced. “’Copacabana’. I expect he’ll do ‘I Write the Songs’ next.”

“For Christ’s sake, _why_?”

“Because he’s had three bottles of Jameson tonight and they don’t have any songs in Gaelic on the machine.”

“But why is he here? Why are you here, listenin’ to him?”

“’M not listening, I’m drinking.” He held up his own bottle of Jack. “And I should be asking you the same. We killed you. Why are you chatting me up?”

Up on the stage, Angel finished the song. A man in a slightly rumpled suit looked as if he wanted to go next, but Angel clutched at the microphone and snarled at him, and the man backed away.

“I came here lookin’ for you.”

Spike puffed into his face again. “Why? Want to be killed again?”

“Well, that would just be a waste of time for us both, wouldn’t it?”

“Dunno. Haven’t done much of it lately. Might be nice to commit a bit of mayhem, keep my hand in.”

Lindsey smiled. “How ‘bout if you hear my proposal before you drop your fangs?”

Spike looked the man up and down again. He knew whatever he was up to, it was no good. But things had been a little slow lately anyway. He stubbed his cigarette out on the black granite bar, drained his bottle, and stood. “All right,” he said. “Outside.” Spike glanced at Angel, but his grandsire’s eyes were closed as he sang the chorus, and he didn’t notice as Spike and Lindsey slipped past him and out the side door.

The silence of the alley was sheer bliss. Lindsey trailed him as he walked several paces deeper in, away from the door and the brightly lit street. There was nothing back here but a half-full dustbin and a few scattered cardboard boxes. It was very dark, but Spike had no problem seeing Lindsey clearly. After all, alleys were a vampire’s natural habitat.

Spike propped his shoulders and the sole of one boot against the brick wall, and pulled out another smoke. “So,” he said, lighting up. “A proposal?”

Lindsey stood very close. “Yeah. Here’s the thing. Wolfram and Hart owns my ass. It’s the contract. So Angel has me killed, I end up in one of the firm’s private hells, right? And then they drag me out when they need me for somethin’—“

“Need you for something? We kicked their arses. Don’t expect they’re up to much nowadays.”

Lindsey shook his head. “You whipped the LA branch, Spike. The firm still has plenty of presence elsewhere.”

Spike scowled but he knew the lawyer was telling the truth. Something like Wolfram and Hart never truly died. It just slinked away for a while to lick its wounds, maybe.

“I was workin’ on somethin’ in Minsk. You ever been to Minsk? In February? Hell’s better. Anyway, I slipped my leash and made my way here.”

“Why?”

“’Cause soon they’re gonna figure out that I’m gone, and they’re gonna track me down.” He gazed earnestly at Spike. “I need protection.”

Spike laughed. “And you think I’m gonna give it to you?”

Lindsey shrugged. “You’re the only one that can. Anybody else, they’d be on me in a second. But they won’t come near you and Angel, not even to get at me.”

Spike thought about this for a few minutes. It made sense, in its own twisted way. After they had won the battle against the demon hordes—lost their friends, but won the battle—their enemies had decided they were too much trouble to deal with, and had withdrawn. It was sort of an unspoken truce: the law firm and its allies stayed out of southern California, and Angel (and Spike, by extension) ignored whatever they were up to in the rest of the world. Maybe it didn’t make them Champions, but there was always plenty of evil to fight right here at home. And if unlife had grown a bit stale, neither Spike nor Angel complained. They merely drank a lot. And, in Angel’s case, brooded, of course.

Spike tossed the cigarette butt away and squinted at Lindsey. “All right. I can see why you might be safe here. But why the bloody hell should I help you?”

Lindsey sighed. Then he sank to his knees at Spike’s feet, spread his arms wide, and dropped his head. He rolled his eyes up to gaze at Spike through his fringe. “I’m all yours.”

Despite himself, Spike felt his cock stir. Lindsey was a very pretty man, and he was even prettier like this. “What do you mean?” he asked, allowing a hint of a growl to edge into his voice.

“You protect me—from the firm, from Angel—and you can have me. Do what you want with me. Master.”

Spike’s nether regions took an even more intense interest in the goings-on.

Spike shifted his face and snarled, knowing his yellow eyes would be glinting in the dim light, his fangs flashing dangerously. “Do you know what you’re offering?”

Lindsey nodded. “Whatever you do with me…it’s better than my alternatives.”

Spike closed the distance between them in a single step, but Lindsey didn’t flinch back. Spike grabbed his hair in one tight fist and tilted his head until he was looking straight up, right into Spike’s feral eyes. “I may have a soul, but I’m still a bloody demon.”

Lindsey didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I got that. It’s why this is perfect. You’re strong enough to protect me, and if you say you will protect me, I know you ain’t gonna hand me over. And you can get your vamp jollies with me guilt-free, ‘cause I’m a bad man, right?” His expression was an odd mixture of earnestness, sarcasm, and arrogance.

Spike loosened his hand and allowed his face to revert to human. He wasn’t stupid, despite what Angel thought. He didn’t trust Lindsey and he fully realized that this was almost certainly part of some plot. But while he was smart enough, he wasn’t always wise, and discretion had never been his watchword. At least Lindsey might provide an interesting diversion, and, Spike thought, he truly could use some diverting. He decided to test the lawyer’s resolve.

He leaned back against the bricks again. “Strip,” he ordered.

Lindsey looked up at him quickly and blinked. And then he stood and began unbuttoning his shirt. Spike watched as the man slowly removed his shirt, allowing it to fall to the ground at his side, and then yanked off his boots. With a determined set to his mouth, he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his jeans, and slipped them off as well. When he was entirely naked, he knelt again.

Spike considered the man before him. He was blushing. His neck was tanned and corded with muscles. Would look nice with a collar, he thought. Steel. No—black leather. His skin was flawless—the tattoos were gone—and stretched over thick slabs of muscle. His brown nipples were hardened little points. His waist was trim, his arse and thighs were rounded and taut, and his cock, which was nestled among dark curls, was at half-mast. Spike smiled to himself. The wanker was embarrassed, but he was also getting off on this.

“Stand up,” Spike said, and Lindsey complied, keeping his eyes trained carefully on the pavement. Spike approached him again and skimmed a hand over his chest and then back, feeling the warmth of him, the minute trembling he was trying hard to keep in check. Then Spike cupped a hand on one of his arse cheeks and squeezed lightly. Lindsey jumped, just a bit, and the color in his cheeks intensified. So did his erection.

Still palming the man’s smooth arse, Spike stepped in until his duster was just brushing against his bare skin. “You’re certain?” he purred into Lindsey’s ear.

“Yes,” was the reply, barely more than a whisper.

Spike moved his hand a bit until the tips of his fingers edged at Lindsey’s cleft, and then probed inside. Lindsey’s breath hitched and his heart was racing, but he didn’t otherwise react. Spike pressed further until he felt the tight little sphincter, and then he put the pad of one cold finger against it and inhaled deeply from Lindsey’s neck. Lindsey’s jaw was set but his eyes were still downcast. Spike pushed his finger inside to the first joint, just as he licked wetly along that neck. McDonald let out a strangled yelp and jerked but didn’t try to move away.

Lindsey was tight around Spike’s finger and hot as a furnace. As Spike watched, a bead of sweat formed at his hairline and dripped down his face. Spike licked it away. Then he pulled his finger out and patted Lindsey’s bum. “On your knees, lawyer.”

For the third time, Lindsey knelt in the alley. He seemed to know what was coming—seemed familiar with the position, Spike thought—because when Spike pushed his crotch into the man’s face, Lindsey immediately reached up and unfastened Spike’s trousers. Spike’s cock was hard and aching already, and Lindsey held it in his right hand while he licked the tip like a lollipop, swirling around the crown and then pushing into the damp slit.

“Done this before, have you?” Spike asked, and Lindsey nodded without stopping the motion of his tongue.

Spike wanted to draw this out, he truly did. But he’d been nearly bloody celibate for far too long, only his left hand for company, and just the sight of the naked man kneeling before him, willing yet not, was nearly enough to send him over the edge. He grabbed Lindsey’s long hair in both hands and thrust himself deeply into Lindsey’s mouth. The man choked a bit and his eyes watered, but he didn’t struggle.

“Bloody hell!” Spike rasped. It had been years since he’d had his dick in someone’s warm mouth, since he’d felt a human pulse throbbing around him and smelled arousal and fear and fresh, salty tears.

His bollocks tightened, and—

“No,” he said, pulling himself free with a loud slurp. “Not yet. Up against the wall, cowboy.”

Lindsey stood and looked close to panicking, his eyes very round and his breathing rapid. But he paused only briefly before walking to the same spot where Spike had been leaning. He pressed his palms and forehead to the bricks.

Spike kicked his legs farther apart. Then he placed a palm over each of Lindsey’s cheeks and spread them apart, admiring the sight before him. Lindsey swallowed a moan.

Spike took his own cock in his hand and came up close behind Lindsey. He dragged his wet organ up and down a few times over the man’s skin.

“Spi—Master,” Lindsey said quietly. “I ain’t never—“

“Don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” Spike laughed, not really caring whether it was true. “I expect one of those bastards at your firm popped your cherry long ago.” He slapped a hand against one of the globes of flesh before him, admiring the way the skin pinked up at once.

Lindsey didn’t say anything in response, but he rolled his head against the wall in mute denial. It didn’t deter Spike, who lined the head of his cock against the man’s hole. Lindsey’s back muscles were tight and more sweat dripped down his spine.

“Relax,” hissed Spike. “Or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me.” And he thrust his hips forward, driving his cock inside.

Lindsey yelped, a high-pitched sound that made a nice counterpoint to Spike’s groan of pleasure. Perhaps he had been telling the truth after all, Spike thought. In any case, he certainly felt virgin-tight, and hot enough that Spike was nearly afraid he’d combust. Instead, though, he pumped urgently against Lindsey, driving him against the wall, ignoring the man’s grunts and whimpers. In no time at all, Spike was coming hard. He barely suppressed the urge to bite into Lindsey’s shoulder as he emptied himself into that constricting passage.

Spike leaned against the broad back for a moment, gathering breath he didn’t really need. Then he pulled out, eliciting a final small cry from Lindsey’s throat. Lindsey remained where Spike had positioned him.

Spike leaned down and picked up Lindsey’s shirt, then used it to wipe his own groin. Spike could smell Lindsey’s blood on him, and it was nearly enough to make him hard again. But he tossed the dirtied shirt aside and tucked himself back inside his jeans, then buttoned up.

“Turn around,” he said. Lindsey did. His cock now hung limp between his legs and his cheeks were streaked with dried tears. He didn’t meet Spike’s gaze. “Last chance to change your mind, pet,” he said.

Lindsey shook his head. “No,” he mumbled.

“All right, then. Let’s go.”

Spike turned toward the door, and Lindsey reached for his discarded clothing.

“Uh-uh,” said Spike, waggling his finger. “Won’t be needing those anymore.”

Lindsey froze. Spike could see his jaw working. But then the man stood again, his hands empty, and he followed Spike back through the door.

As the walked through the bar, the other customers stopped and stared. Spike looked over his shoulder at his new pet, whose face was scarlet. Spike inhaled and could smell blood and come, and knew they were visible, dripping down the inside of Lindsey’s thighs.

Angel didn’t see them at first. He’d given up the mic and was back at their table, hunched morosely over another bottle of whiskey. He only looked up as Spike approached the table, and then Angel’s mouth gaped comically open as he saw the spectacle before him. Spike said, “Cheers, Peaches,” and then swept on by toward the front door.

The car was parked only a block away, which was probably just as well. Even in LA at night, the authorities might take notice of a naked bloke walking down the street. Spike opened the back door and instructed Lindsey to get inside, and to kneel on the floorboards facing backwards. It was a bit awkward, but Lindsey managed to comply. Spike chuckled to himself as he drove off, knowing Angel would have to walk. Or call a cab. Stupid git didn’t even know Spike had his own set of keys.

At first, Spike intended to drive straight back to the Hyperion. The nice little bout of back-alley shagging had tired him, and it would be nice to just collapse in front of the telly. But then he decided to make a stop on the way, while he had the car anyway and Lindsey was handy. He needed some supplies.

Jimmy’s Toy Chest wasn’t too far out of the way and kept late-night hours. Spike had been inside only once before, out of curiosity more than anything. It had been a very long time since he’d had a chance to use the sorts of things Jimmy carried.

The bloke behind the counter looked slightly startled when Spike and Lindsey entered, and then smirked. It was bright inside, much brighter than the bar, and Lindsey looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor, but he trailed compliantly behind Spike.

“Uh, can I help you?” the bloke asked. He had an impressive number of piercings in his face.

“Need this and that. I can find it myself.”

“Want a basket?” He pointed at a stack of metal bins near the counter.

“Ta,” Spike said. He turned to Lindsey. “Get one.”

Lindsey did, and then followed as Spike meandered around, occasionally tossing items into the basket. Most of the items made Lindsey look distinctly nervous. Spike took an especially long time in the collar section, finally deciding on a black leather one, about an inch wide, with metal studs and a D-ring and a fastening that could be padlocked. He lingered over the selection of chains as well, but he knew that Angel had an impressive supply already in the basement, and so Spike turned aside and chose a nice, sturdy-looking flogger instead.

The bloke at the counter smiled as he rang up Spike’s purchases. “Good choice,” he said, dropping a wide silicone butt plug into a plastic bag. Spike handed over his Angel Investigations Visa. He had plenty of cash, actually, but it was so much more fun to pay for things like this with the credit card, and to see Angel’s head virtually explode when he received the bill. Besides, what was the thick sod thinking, trusting Spike with a credit card to begin with?

Spike made Lindsey carry everything out to the car.

His existence was looking a bit livelier.

[Chapter 2](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/42045.html#cutid1)


	2. Double Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/) , who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Double Crossing, 2/8** _

**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 2 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/) , who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/) !

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Double+Crossing&filter=all).

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
---  
  
 

**Chapter Two**

         “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Spike blinked sleepily. It wasn’t a pleasant way to wake up. At least Angel hadn’t hit him—

Whap!

“Oi! Keep your bloody great mitts to yourself!” Spike stumbled out of bed and glared at his grandsire while wiping away the blood that was now trickling from his nose.

“What the _hell_, William?”

Spike hated it when Angel called him that, as Angel knew perfectly well. “Was just having a kip, _Liam_,” he snarled.

“But what is that?!” Angel stabbed his meaty finger at the figure that hunched in the corner of Spike’s room, trussed and gagged quite prettily.

“My new toy.”

Angel sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Explain before I beat an explanation out of you.”

“Yeah? Like to see you try, ponce,” Spike sneered back, but only half-heartedly. After so many decades, he was weary of this old interplay. He sat on his bed. “He walked up to me at Terry’s, right? Said he needed protection from Wolfram and Hart, and if I gave it to him, he was mine.” He shrugged. “Seemed like a fair exchange.”

“That’s Lindsey McDonald!”

Spike lifted his eyebrows. Duh, as Buffy would have said.

“You brought Lindsey McDonald into my fucking house!”

“Well, it’s my house as well, innit?” Spike replied fiercely. Sure, Angel may have paid for the old heap ages ago, but Spike had lived here for six years now, fighting side by side with Angel, and he was entitled to some ownership claim as well. “Besides, isn’t it better to have him here, nice and tied up where we can keep an eye on him, instead of lurking about all sneaky-like?”

Angel opened his mouth, and then shut it. Pillock never could admit when Spike had a good point.

“He’s up to something,” Angel finally growled.

“I expect so,” Spike replied. In the corner, Lindsey tried to look innocent, which would have been difficult for him even without a ball gag stuffed in his mouth and his wrists and ankles chained to a metal bar.

“Put him in the cell in the basement.”

Spike had considered this. But that would have been inconvenient, what with Lindsey’s messy biological needs, and the lack of plumbing in the cage. Besides, he liked being able to watch his new pet, and smell him, and listen to the sound of his thudding heart. “No,” he told Angel. “I’ll keep him nearby. He’s not going anywhere, though, is he?” He wasn’t. He couldn’t even crawl, really, and he certainly wasn’t going to make it through the long corridor and then down three flights of stairs to the front door.

Angel scowled mightily.

“Can borrow him if you want, sire,” Spike grinned. “You’ve always fancied each other anyhow.”

Angel looked like he might hit Spike again, and Lindsey made a muffled sound. Then Angel spun on his heels and stomped out of Spike’s room.

Spike stretched and then reached for one of the objects beside his bed. “If I’m up anyway, might as well have some fun,” he said. He slapped the paddle loudly against his hand, chuckling as Lindsey flinched. “And you could do with some color in your cheeks.”

 

Having a pet was better than Spike had expected.

There was all the shagging, of course. He hadn’t been able to get his end away this much since Dru left him. Lindsey was warm and strong and, it turned out, his body was very willing even if it took some time for his mind admit it.

And then there were the games. Truthfully, although Spike enjoyed inflicting a bit of pain and humiliation now and then, real torture had always been Angelus’s thing and not his. But there were so many other ways to amuse himself with his new toy. There was the week he kept Lindsey locked in a humbler, letting him out only when he bathed, and watching him crawl in circles around the big lobby. Or the day he decided to see how many times he could make Lindsey come in a 24-hour period, aided by various vibrators, stimulators, and plugs. His pet started pleading to be allowed to rest only six hours in. Even better was the day Spike had decided to test the limits of vampire endurance and refactory periods, and see how many times _he_ could come in 24 hours. Another time, he kept Lindsey’s cock locked in a chastity device for several weeks. He could piss through it, but he couldn’t touch himself or rub off; he couldn’t even get hard. He begged quite fetchingly over that as well.

But that wasn’t all. Lindsey also did chores. Washing blood-stained glasses, emptying ashtrays, scrubbing the bathtub. That sort of thing. And while Spike’s housekeeping standards weren’t incredibly high, and his schedule wasn’t so busy that he couldn’t do these things himself, he enjoyed watching his pet do them. Especially when Lindsey began doing things on his own, without being told, and with a small smile on his face and an extra shimmy to his arse while he worked. He was a good cook, as well, which was nice for a vampire who’d retained much of his taste for human food.

After several months, Spike had to admit to himself that what he liked even better about Lindsey was when Spike was watching telly, and his pet would sit on the floor and wrap his arm around Spike’s calves, and lean his head against a knee. And they’d watch together, and laugh or throw popcorn at the screen. Spike even got Lindsey rooting for Manchester United instead of pouting over missing Sooners games. And when they slept, sometimes Spike allowed Lindsey to share his bed, and to cuddle up against him, and the vampire had the bliss of a hard, warm body next to his.

The truth was, Spike had been lonely for some time. He was never meant to be alone, and before Lindsey appeared, with Angel spending all his free time off sulking in his own suite, Spike might as well as had the hotel to himself.

At first, Angel avoided them both as much as possible. Soon, though, Spike caught him peeking around corners or skulking in the shadows, usually with an odd expression on his face that Spike could almost swear looked like longing, or jealousy, or perhaps a bit of both.

A few weeks later, Angel began sauntering into Spike’s room while they were watching telly, ostensibly to ask a question about some trivial matter, or to make a pronouncement about their next demon round-up. But then he’d stay in the room for a bit, sitting stiffly on a wood-backed chair. Spike mostly ignored him.

Sometimes, too, Spike and Lindsey would be in the hotel’s huge kitchen. There was a small table in there, and Spike would sit at it, drinking some warmed blood and nibbling on whatever Lindsey had cooked up, while his pet sat at his feet, eating his meal off the Hyperion’s chipped old china. Angel would wander in nonchalantly and nod at Spike, then heat some blood of his own. He’d sit at the table as well, sipping away and reading a newspaper or thumbing through some dusty tract on curses or spells. It was…companionable.

Six or seven months after Lindsey arrived, Angel asked Spike if he’d like to watch a video in Angel’s suite. He’d bought a new flat-screen. So Spike and his slave wandered over and they all viewed some film in Norwegian, with subtitles, bloody depressing, actually, but it was still a pleasant time. It seemed to set a precedent, and soon they’d gather there every day, sometimes watching something, sometimes reading, sometimes even just talking. Lindsey began using Angel’s kitchen instead, and that’s where they ate, where the space was less empty, and every clink of a fork on a plate didn’t echo about the room.

Now and then, Angel smiled, or even laughed. And every time he did, a small thrill went through Spike. Not because he expected that his grandsire was ever going to be perfectly happy, happy enough to shed his soul, but rather because he was a tiny bit cheerful. A bit more like the Angelus he had once been, minus most of the death and mayhem. A bit more like the vampire Spike—No. He wouldn’t think of that.

It was a strange domesticity, to be sure, but what else could be expected of two souled vampires and a resurrected evil lawyer?

 

Nearly a year after Lindsey came to the Hyperion, and the three of them were gathered cozily in Angel’s suite. Spike and Angel were sharing the couch and watching a cop program on the telly.

Lindsey had been naughty earlier—something he couldn’t seem to avoid every now and then—and was being punished. Spike had chosen the worst torture imaginable for a lawyer: a metal device that kept his mouth ratcheted wide open, but kept him from being able to speak. Lindsey hated it, and kept throwing sulky looks in Spike’s direction until Spike blindfolded him as well, and cuffed his hands behind his back. So now he was on his knees on the floor, his cheek resting on the carpet, and his nicely-reddened arse serving as Spike’s footstool. At least Spike had taken off his Docs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike caught Angel staring wistfully at his pet’s raised bum. It was worth staring at.

Spike moved his feet down to the floor and scooted so that he was no longer seated directly behind Lindsey. Then he raised a single eyebrow, looked at Angel, and gestured at his former spot.

Angel frowned and Spike could nearly see the gears turning in his head. Then, with a resolute look, the brunet vampire moved over until he was in Spike’s old spot, his great feet propped on Lindsey’s arse. Spike handed him one of the bottles of stout he’d stockpiled beside himself. Angel drank almost half of it in one draught and looked actually comfortable, for the first time in Spike’s recent memory.

“Got a call today,” Angel said. Lindsey startled, apparently just then becoming aware that the feet on him did not belong to Spike. The vampires ignored him.

“Yeah?” said Spike.

“Xander Harris.”

“Droopy boy?” Spike asked incredulously.

“He’s not so droopy any more. Or a boy, for that matter. He’s…sort of a Watcher now. He works with Buffy.”

Spike simply stared at Angel. The two of them rarely discussed the Slayer. Spike knew Angel heard from her every once in a great while, when there was Slayer business that had to do with the Los Angeles area. Angel was always especially dark and withdrawn after those brief conversations. For his part, Spike had got past his love for Buffy, but he doubted whether his grandsire ever would. He sighed. “So. What did the whelp want?”

“To warn us, mostly. There’s been an increase in demon activity worldwide for the last few months.”

“Really? Been rather quiet here.”

Angel shrugged. “He also said they caught up with a couple Tlaxars recently, who said something about evil in LA.”

Spike snorted. “There’s always evil in LA.” He gestured at the telly, which was showing some sort of talent competition. The bird on stage wasn’t as bad as Angel, but she was close. “Look at that rot, for example.”

“It was just a head’s up. We should keep our eyes open for anything going on.”

“There was that nest of Falanjoids we found last week.”

“They’re pretty run-of-the mill, Spike.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t get their slime all over your coat. Cost me a fortune to have cleaned.”

“Cost _me_ a fortune, you mean.”

Spike grinned. “Business expense.”

Angel rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he took another big swig.

Several minutes later, Spike noticed that Angel was absently sliding one foot up and down Lindsey’s cheek. Spike suppressed a smile and pretended to watch the caterwauling on the television.

Most of a case of Guinness later, Angel’s pedal caresses had become more intense until Lindsey was squirming beautifully underneath him. Spike couldn’t tell whether the man was wriggling in distress or pleasure, and didn’t really care. He was too transfixed by the sight of it.

Angel was, too. He’d stopped watching the program some time ago. Now his mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were dark and glistening.

Slowly, Spike moved his hand to his groin and dug the heel of it against his bulge, just right. He tuned out the obnoxious sound from the television and instead listened to Angel’s slight panting and to Lindsey’s small, open-mouthed whimpers and whines. His pet’s cock was hard, poking wetly against his belly as he writhed. Lindsey was clearly struggling mightily to maintain the position he’d been put into.

Spike rubbed a bit harder. When his trousers became too confining, he unbuttoned them and stroked his firm flesh directly. Angel’s glance flicked in his direction, and his brown eyes widened slightly. Spike heard him swallow. And then, very deliberately, Angel put down his empty bottle and unfastened his flies, releasing his own erection. He began to fondle it in the same tempo as Spike.

Unconsciously, Spike licked his lips. There had been only that one time with Angelus, over a century ago now, but he still clearly remembered the taste of that cock, the feel of it in his mouth and in his arse.

Angel saw him and smirked slightly. Spike curled his tongue around his teeth and gave Angel his most lascivious look. Lindsey only moaned.

For quite some time, they wanked in tandem. Spike liked the crease of concentration between Angel’s brows and the way his eyelashes fluttered when he teased the tip of his glans with his thumb. When a throaty little sigh escaped Angel, Spike could stand it no longer. He lifted his hips and slid his jeans off completely. Then he stood and knelt in front of Lindsey. He unlocked the handcuffs and pushed the man’s hands to the floor. He pulled the long hair tightly until Lindsey’s gaping mouth was even with his groin, and then he slid his cock inside.

Lindsey immediately started sucking most enthusiastically. That left his hind end still occupied only by Angel’s bare feet. Angel paused in his self-administrations to watch as Spike’s column of flesh slid between Lindsey’s spit-dampened lips.

“He’s already slicked, Sire,” Spike said, and saw Angel’s cock twitch when he said the last word without sarcasm.

Angel bit his lip and shut his eyes for a moment. And then he was on his knees, too, smoothing his palms over Lindsey’s arse. The big muscles in Lindsey’s shoulders and back were quivering and tense.

Lindsey had a butt plug in him. He usually did. This was one of Spike’s favorites, just big enough to keep him open and prepared for his Master. The base of it was set with a large fake jewel, and Spike fancied the sparkle of it. Angel grasped the plug and twisted it while moving it slightly in and out. Lindsey made a strangled noise around Spike’s cock, which was actually rather nice.

And then Angel pulled the plug completely out. He tossed it aside and, in one quick movement, shoved himself deeply inside Lindsey. The movement pushed the man forward so that Spike’s cock was fully engulfed and his pet’s nose was buried in Spike’s curls. Spike smiled and thrust forward, sending Lindsey back so that Angel was fully seated within him.

The vampires quickly found a rhythm, propelling the hapless human back and forth between them. Spike couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of Angel’s cock buried in his pet, just as he knew Angel was mesmerized by the action on Spike’s end of the slave. It was the hottest thing Spike had experienced since…well, since about bleeding ever.

On impulse, he released his grip on Lindsey’s hair, and instead reached over and grasped Angel’s shoulders. Spike leaned forward then and managed to touch his lips to Angel’s. Angel tensed for a moment. Then he placed his hands on either side of Spike’s face and captured him for a bruising, passionate kiss.

They’d never kissed before. Not that one time, even. In fact, the only time Spike could remember those lips touching him was when he was in the sodding wheelchair in Sunnyhell, and Angelus had mockingly smooched his forehead. There was nothing mocking about this kiss, or about the way Angel’s cold hands seemed to burn right into his skin.

Lindsey bucked beneath them, and Spike realized he was likely suffocating his pet. Regretfully, he pulled away from Angel. Lindsey sucked air in greedily through his nose.

After that, it was very fast. Spike pumped into Lindsey’s mouth only a few more times, and then his head was spinning and he was coming. He was still shuddering with his climax when Angel threw back his head and juddered heavily into Lindsey, his face flashing to demon for a split second before becoming human once again.

Panting and sated, the vampires withdrew. Lindsey collapsed on his side, his chest heaving. Semen was dripping from his mouth and arse, and, Spike noticed with amusement, his pet’s own spend was splattered on the carpet next to him.

Angel sat on his heels and leaned back against the couch. His trousers were puddled around his knees. He looked knackered, but not unhappy. In fact, he even gave Spike a shy little smile, which was a surprise. Spike had expected anger and embarrassment.

“That was good,” Angel said quietly.

Spike nodded. “It was.”

Spike decided it was a good time to end the night, before one of them could ruin the moment. He stood and picked his jeans off the floor. Lindsey’s leash was hanging on the arm of the couch, and Spike hooked it onto his collar. Before he led his pet away, though, he crouched in front of Angel and, quickly, stole one more kiss from his shocked grandsire. And then, without another word, he pulled Lindsey out of Angel’s suite.

 

[Chapter 3](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/42413.html#cutid1)


	3. Double Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Double Crossing, 3/8** _

**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 3 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Double+Crossing&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
---  
  
**Chapter Three**

 

“This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Oi, give it some time. Besides, you have someplace better to be?”

Angel scowled and took another swallow of whiskey. Maybe a few more shots and he would relax and actually enjoy himself a bit.

Despite its name, The Pit was actually quite nice, for a demon bar. The patrons tended to come from the higher echelons of LA’s demonic community, and were mostly of the more civilized sorts. The place was owned by a Goran syndicate that traded quite heavily in prostitution and various controlled substances, but, because they were very rarely violent, had managed to keep their peace with Angel and Spike. They employed Chorago demons as bouncers, which meant fights among the bar’s customers were uncommon.

The Gorans had decorated The Pit in a sort of faux dungeon style. The tables were unvarnished oak slabs and the hanging light fixtures were blackened iron inset with fake candles. The walls were stone, and affixed to them by chains were a half dozen males and females of various species, each of whom seemed to take a turn in moaning. The first time they came here Angel had insisted on checking with them, and some were paid while others were volunteers, but apparently every one of them was perfectly content to be bound. The waiters and waitresses wore complicated leather and chainmail getups as well. It was all a bit hokey, but the drinks were strong and it was a good place to listen in on gossip.

It was Spike’s idea to come here, and he was having a good time. Lindsey knelt quietly at his feet, wearing only his collar and a gauzy pair of trousers that hung low on his hips and emphasized his raging erection more than they hid it. Spike had pierced his pet’s nipples as well, and every so often he reached out and flicked absently at the silver hoops. Lindsey had blushed furiously as soon as they stepped inside, and even now, an hour later, his cheeks still tinged a charming pink every time someone stopped by the table to admire Spike’s slave. The moisture on the crown of Lindsey’s cock had seeped through the front of his trousers, making that spot nearly transparent.

The waitress came by, a pretty blonde human with huge tits that were barely covered by the bustier thing she wore. As she took another drink order from them, Spike caught Angel ogling her chest and smirked. Angel didn’t take the bait, though, and only sighed unhappily as she walked away.

“We should just go,” Angel grumbled.

“You’re the one worried about Harris’s warning. If you’d rather go strong-arm creatures in the sewer for news, be my bloody guest. I’m comfortable here.”

Angel made a sour face but he didn’t leave. Instead, he slumped in his seat as if every one of his 280 years was a weight on his shoulders.

Spike had a sudden inspiration. He leaned over and whispered in his pet’s ear. Lindsey turned beet-red again, and looked up at Spike as if he might argue. But he must have seen the determined set to Spike’s face and remembered his last several punishments, because he ducked his head and then crawled under the table toward Angel on his hands and knees.

Angel was too lost in his own thoughts to see him approach. Lindsey paused just in front of Angel’s chair and then glanced back at Spike for a reprieve that wasn’t going to come. Then he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, gritted his teeth, and turned back to Angel.

Angel startled violently when Lindsey touched his groin. If vampires could blush, he would have turned as red as Lindsey. Instead, he glared at Spike as if he could dust him through sheer will alone. Spike smiled at him.

Angel looked like he might get up and stomp away. But by now Lindsey had his flies open and was in the process of drawing his cock out of his boxers, and disengaging himself would be very awkward. Spike pushed his chair back a bit so he had a better view.

While Angel tried to pretend as if nothing at all was happening south of the border, Lindsey was bent over Angel’s lap, his fist wrapped around Angel’s cock as he stroked slowly. Spike knew from experience that Lindsey was very talented with his hands and his mouth, and could get a bloke off in minutes if he truly tried. Right now, though, he was deliberately drawing the process out. Despite his protests, he liked being made a spectacle of.

Angel’s attempts to ignore Lindsey went completely out the window when the man slipped his warm, moist mouth around the vampire’s hardened cock. Angel closed his eyes and breathed heavily, and his hand tightened around his glass so convulsively that the glass cracked and crumbled. Spike wasn’t sure which was more delicious—the sight of his pet’s head bobbing between Angel’s sprawled legs, or the heady mixture of whiskey and sire’s blood that was soaking into the table-top.

A Chaos demon wandered over from a nearby table. Spike fought the urge to attack him. He really hated the slimy bastards.

“Hey,” said the demon. “Nice slave.”

“Ta,” Spike mumbled.

“Where’d you get him?”

“Long story. Used to be a lawyer.”

“Ooh! One of Wolfram and Hart’s?”

Both Lindsey and Angel tensed visibly at the name, but they were both too far into what they were doing to really stop. Spike simply shrugged.

“’Cause if he was, he’s probably better off with you right now.”

Spike’s interest sharpened considerably. “Oh?” he said.

“Yeah! I heard—“ The Chaos demon stopped and looked around the bar. “Um, I’d better not say.”

Spike used his foot to scoot the chair next to him away from the table. He gestured at it. “Have a seat, mate. I’ll buy you a drink.”

The demon looked nervously around again, and then at the show going on under the table. He licked his lips. “Uh, okay,” he said, and sat down.

Spike waved the waitress over. She winked at Angel, who groaned and shut his eyes again, and then turned to Spike. “What can I get you boys?”

“’Nother shot of Jack for me. More Jameson for him. And for my mate here.…” He looked questioningly at the demon.

“Pomegranate cosmo, please,” the demon said, and Spike had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Name’s Spike,” he said, holding out his hand. “What’s yours?”

The demon looked appalled. Apparently he hadn’t realized until this moment precisely which vampires he was addressing. Angel’s and Spike’s reputation tended to proceed them. The demon might have got up and scurried away, but Spike rested his arm across the back of the creature’s chair in a friendly manner.

“Uh, M-M-Mike,” he stammered.

“From around here, Mike?”

“No. I’m, uh, from Louisville. I’m here on business.”

Spike had no idea what sort of business a Chaos demon might be engaged in, and didn’t care. “So, Mike. You were telling me about this thing with the lawyers.”

Mike’s eyes moved desperately between Spike’s grinning face and Lindsey’s busy mouth. “Um, yeah. I don’t really th-th-think—“

“Oh, come now. We’re all friends here, yeah?”

Lindsey must have done something interesting just then because Angel let out a loud gasp and slammed his bleeding palm into the mess on the table. His other hand crept under the table and seized Lindsey’s hair.

The waitress reappeared and smilingly served them their drinks before walking away. Mike grabbed his cosmo and took a long sip, probably wishing he’d ordered something a good bit stronger.

“Mikey?” Spike reminded him.

Mike took a deep breath. “Well, yeah, okay. It’s, um….” He had another sip. “The word is, that Wolfram and Hart are wanting to, uh, re-establish themselves on the west coast.”

“Is that so?” Spike saw Angel’s mouth tighten, but his grandsire didn’t push Lindsey away. Lindsey’s movements, however, became more vigorous.

“It’s what I heard. My cousin Bob, he lives in New York, right? And he told me that his friend’s sister’s boyfriend works at W and H’s office there, and they’re gonna make a move out here soon.” Mike drained his glass.

“Well,” Spike said, tossing his shot back in one go, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “if they do, I expect we’ll have a nice welcome party waiting for them.”

Mike nodded.

Angel pushed his hips forward and tipped his head back. He slammed his hand on the table again and groaned. Lindsey’s arse jerked as well, and Spike heard him swallow. A moment, later, Angel pushed the man’s face away and then hurriedly tucked himself back in and zipped up. Lindsey crawled back to kneel at Spike’s side. His lips were swollen and the front of his trousers had a very large, wet stain.

Mike stumbled to his feet. “Uh, thanks for the drink. I gotta go.”

Spike allowed a bit of fang to flash as he grinned at him. “Cheers, mate. Give my regards to your cousin’s friend’s sister’s boyfriend.”

The Chaos demon dashed quickly away and out the door. Spike turned to Angel, who still looked weary, but slightly less so than before.

“See?” Spike said. “My scheme worked like a charm.”

 

“What the fuck kind of game are you playing?”

Lindsey yelped as the sjambok snapped against his lower belly. “Nothin’! I told you, I didn’t know!”

They were in the basement. Angel had flung a heavy chain over one of the rafters and they’d shackled Lindsey to it, hoisting him so that his feet hung several inches above the floor. His ankles were held apart by a wide spreader bar that was tethered to one of the support pillars, allowing him only a few inches of movement in his legs. His trousers were in tatters in the floor, and his back, arse, chest, and legs sported bright red stripes.

Spike was straddling a small wooden chair backwards, his chin resting on one hand atop the seat back. His other hand held his lit cigarette. He’d decided to leave this business to Angel, who was much better at it. Spike never had been any good at torturing information out of the unwilling, as the incident with the Gem of Amara and the pokers had demonstrated.

Angel was just getting warmed up. He didn’t really expect Lindsey to spill yet—would probably be disappointed if he did—but was only scaring him now, trying to wear him down a bit before the real fun began.

Spike felt conflicted. On the one hand, he was enjoying watching his grandsire at work. He hadn’t seen Angelus in his element for so very long. Even in Sunnydale, that time when his soul came loose, he’d been too distracted by the Slayer to be in top form. Besides, Spike was vulnerable then, and had ended up at the wrong side of Angelus’s twisted mind too many times himself. Now, though, Spike could sit back and watch, and not a twinge from his own soul, given Angel’s specific target.

However, there was a part of him that hoped that Lindsey didn’t end up badly damaged. The man was more durable than an ordinary human, Spike knew that already, but neither he nor Angel knew his true limits. And over the year Spike had become used to his pet’s presence. Hell, if he was completely honest with himself, he’d have to admit he actually cared for the tosser. A bit.

And perhaps that was why another part of himself was raging with fury, itching with the need to tear Lindsey to shreds. The fucker had betrayed him. Yeah, he’d known from the beginning that the lawyer couldn’t be trusted and this whole thing was a plot of some kind. But still, after all these months, he appeared to have forgotten that bit, or at least pushed it into the deeper recesses of his consciousness.

So now he just watched silently and smoked as Angel put the whip down. Angel reached instead for a small wooden cabinet that had been placed on top of an old crate. He stroked the outside of the box slowly, sensuously, and Spike shook his head. He wouldn’t have thought that the old bugger had held onto the thing after all these years. Angel swung the top open and Lindsey emitted a terrified squeak when he saw what was inside.

Angel carefully selected one of the delicate metal items inside the box and held it up, inspecting it, admiring the way the light from the overhead light reflected from it. “Know what these are, boy?” There was a definite hint of a brogue in his voice, and even Spike shivered a bit.

“Dental instruments. They’re as old as William, you know. In fact, I acquired them shortly before he joined us. The girls and I had just had a nice appetizer—a portly little man who was hurrying home a little too late.” For once, he sounded more nostalgic over a past atrocity than regretful. He smiled. “And a little too slow. He had a leather valise with this inside.”

Angel stepped closer to Lindsey, who tried vainly to wriggle away from the sharp hook in Angel’s hand. “Now, I don’t have much need for dental work, myself,” Angel said, flashing his sparkling fangs. “But I’ve still found this kit pretty useful, you know?” He held the tip of the hook very close to Lindsey’s right eye. Lindsey squeezed his lids shut and tried to hide his face against his arm, but Angel buried his hand in the man’s hair and yanked his head sharply to the side.

“Please don’t,” Lindsey begged. “Master! You promised to protect me from him.”

“And you promised to be my good little slave, didn’t you?” Spike retorted. “Seems to me you were in breach of contract first, lawyer.”

“I didn’t! I was—“ Lindsey cried out when Angel dug the hook completely through his right nipple and then out, tearing the flesh and causing the silver hoop to fall out and onto the floor. Spike wished he could go suck at the trickling blood, but Angel would be angry if he got between them. Angel turned his attention to the other nipple and again there was a choked cry and then the chink of metal against concrete.

“I didn’t know they were plannin’ nothin’. I told you—I was in Minsk. They didn’t even know I was gonna come here.”

Angel wiped the hook on a piece of soft cloth and replaced it in the box. The next item he took out was more like a thick needle or a small ice pick. He brought it over to Lindsey, who was trembling violently. “Did you know I can hear your heartbeat speed up when you lie? I’m kind of like a lie detector.”

Lindsey shook his head. “I ain’t, I ain’t lyin’.”

His hand moving so fast it was only a blur, Angel stabbed the instrument deeply into Lindsey’s upper chest, just below his collar bone, but well to the side of anything vital. Lindsey _oof_ed in pain. He shouted even louder when Angel pulled it out a moment later.

“Now, that’s not right,” Angel said. “Needs symmetry.” And he rammed the pick in to the same spot on Lindsey’s other side. When he yanked it out again, Spike could smell the blood and his stomach rumbled.

Angel held the bloody point near Lindsey’s face. “Back in the ‘40s, Walter Freeman used a gadget just a little bigger than this to perform lobotomies. Sometimes the patients weren’t even anesthetized. He’d just stick the point in through an eye socket, whack it to poke through the bone, and than swirl.” Angel demonstrated these movements inches from Lindsey’s horrified face.

“No, God, please no. Please, Angel.”

Angel looked as if he was considering Lindsey’s pleas. “The thing is, you’d still be perfectly good for Spike’s use.” He sighed theatrically. “Probably wouldn’t be able to tell us much about Wolfram and Hart, though. Well, let’s keep it in mind, okay? Get it? _Mind_?”

Angel cleaned the instrument and put it away as well. Whatever relief Lindsey may have felt at that was quickly gone when he saw what Angel picked up next: a set of pliers with wickedly curved ends. With a chilling grin, the vampire cradled Lindsey’s balls in one big hand. Lindsey whimpered. Angel applied the pliers to the flesh he held, squeezing the handle tightly and then curling his wrist. Lindsey screeched and even Spike winced and shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

“I bet I can twist ‘em right off,” Angel said. “I’ve done it before. Not a pretty way to geld someone, but it does the job.”

Tears were running down Lindsey’s face now. “I ain’t—There was a plan. But I didn’t do it, I swear.”

Angel twisted again, and Lindsey screamed. “I didn’t! Didn’t go through with it. God! Stop!”

Angel released the pressure on Lindsey’s bollocks and the man let out a sob. “Why don’t you tell us about it, Linds?” Angel said.

Lindsey’s breaths were ragged and he stared at the floor. “I was…I was supposed to make a deal with Ma—with Spike, just like I did. And then I was supposed to lure him away, get him to Houston. They were gonna drug him and snatch him and lock him away.”

“Why?”

“To get him out of the picture. They figured you’d be too weak to hold LA on your own. Might even come after him, get yourself caught, too.”

Spike smiled sadly to himself at that. Ponce would never have risked his own neck to rescue him.

Angel squinted his eyes. “Too complicated. Why not just dust him? Or both of us, for that matter?”

Lindsey shook his head. “That fuckin’ prophecy. They still think they can use you.”

“And why drag this out so long? You’ve been here a year.”

Lindsey lifted his head. “It’s what I said. I didn’t go through with it. I was supposed to get him to Texas months and months ago. But I didn’t even try.”

“Why?”

Lindsey turned so he was looking at Spike. His face was a mask of anguish. “I didn’t…. I wanted to stay with you, Master. I did. I liked…liked belonging to you. I’ve been property for a long time now. I wanted to be your property for good.”

Spike abruptly stood, nearly knocking over his chair. He couldn’t stand to listen to lies anymore. Of course Lindsey hadn’t wanted him, any more than Angel did, any more than…any more than anybody ever had. Even Dru, who needed him when she was mad, but dumped him whenever she was sane. Or Buffy, who told him she loved him as he was burning, and even then couldn’t make him believe it.

With an inchoate roar, Spike stomped past the other two and up the stairs, slamming the basement door closed behind him.

 

Spike was shoving the last of his belongings into his bag when Angel entered his room. Spike hefted the bag to his shoulder. It wasn’t much. Hardly anything, really, to show for a century and a half of existence.

Angel’s face was grim and he’d changed his clothes. Spike started to push past him, but Angel caught him by the shoulder before he could get out the door.

“He really didn’t know anything about whatever they have planned now.”

Spike shrugged. Why should he bloody care? He wasn’t going to say anything at all, but then he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you kill him?”

“No. I gave him a set of clothes and told him to get the fuck out of here.”

Spike ignored the feeling of relief that statement gave him and shook himself free of Angel’s grip.

“Where are you going?” Angel demanded.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Somewhere else.”

“But I need—Wolfram and Hart are gonna try to get LA back, Spike. I can’t hold them off by myself.”

“Let them have it then,” Spike snarled. “Never liked this bloody city anyhow. Too much fucking sunshine.”

“Spike—“

“What?!”

Angel looked at him and then shook his head and looked away. “Nothing. Just…don’t steal my goddamn car again.”

Spike growled and walked out the door, telling himself that his dead heart couldn’t possibly be breaking.

 

[Chapter Four](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/42745.html#cutid1)


	4. Double Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Double Crossing, 4/8**_  
**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 4 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Double+Crossing&filter=all).

 

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
---  
  
 

**Chapter Four**

          On the whole, he would rather have been in Philadelphia. Or Frankfort. Or Phnom Penh. Or nearly anywhere on the planet except where he was, which was a dirty room in an awful old motor court motel somewhere deep in the fucking heartland.

He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up here.

He’d left the Hyperion with a few hundred dollars in cash and no particular plan at all. It had been close to sunrise, though, so he’d quickly taken to the sewers. He found a cleanish empty spot and squatted against the wall, trying to get his head sorted. Where was he going to go now?

His first thought had been to Scotland. He could join Buffy and her Slayer army, could be a true help to them. But he quickly rejected the idea. Being around all the potentials had set his teeth on edge that time before he died in Sunnyhell. He couldn’t imagine actually living among them and working with them. Besides, even though he’d be an asset, he wouldn’t truly be welcome. Wouldn’t be wanted.

So that left…what? The rest of the world. He’d knocked around the globe enough over the decades, and he knew plenty of places where a vampire could exist in relative peace, even if that vampire had a soul. The problem was, not one of them appealed to him. None of them was home. He’d really only had two true homes since he’d been turned. One of them was now a crater, and the other was…where Angel was. Fuck.

In the end, he’d emerged from the sewer at sunset and stolen the pouf’s car after all and driven it more or less at random. He’d ended up heading north along the coast, all the way through Big Sur and then to San Francisco. Then he’d switched over to I-80 and gone east. Every morning he’d find a cheap motel to hole up in for the day. Feeding was a bit of a problem, but the larger cities had supermarkets open at night, and he could buy blood from the butchers there. It wasn’t optimal, but it kept the hunger away.

He’d made his way slowly, often switching to state highways rather than the interstate, looking for anything of interest in the cowboy towns he blew through. He hadn’t found anything.

So now here he was in the arsehole of America, and he had just about enough dosh left to fill the car’s tank one more time, and he still had no sense of what to do with himself. And in the harsh light of day, when the sun crept in around the edges of the drawn curtains, highlighting the millions of dust motes in the air, he was still alone.

 

He didn’t sleep. The telly was on, but he wasn’t watching it. Instead, he was following a thin bar of sunlight as it slowly made its way across the floor, and then over the foot of the bed. It was less than three inches from his feet now. He’d be in it if he pointed his toes. But he wouldn’t. He’d wait for it to come to him.

_CRASH!!_

The door to his room slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall and then back. Spike scrambled off the bed, vamping out as he did.

Three huge men squeezed into the room. One of them was wearing an expensive but rumpled suit, and the others were in jeans and tees. Two were pointing guns at him, and the third had a crossbow aimed at Spike’s chest.

Spike looked around frantically, but there was nowhere to go. The only exit was the door, and even if the men weren’t blocking his way, it led straight into the mid-afternoon sun. “Who the bloody hell are you?” he growled, wondering if he could find a way to bluff his way out of this mess.

The man in the suit smiled at him, revealing perfectly white teeth. “Your new best friends.” And then he pulled the trigger of his gun.

Spike had been shot plenty of times before, so he braced himself for the pain and impact. Instead, though, there was only a sharp sting in his chest. Surprised, he looked down and found a dart sticking through the fabric of his shirt. He yanked it out and tossed it aside, but already his limbs were feeling heavy and his vision was going gray.

“Bugger,” he mumbled, and collapsed to the floor.

 

Cold.

He was really bloody cold, and his head felt like a bomb had gone off inside. He lurched unsteadily to his feet, swayed, and fell back onto the hard floor. He groaned and rolled onto his back and decided to try opening his eyes first this time.

Carefully, he peeled his lids open, and at first the light was too bright for him to see anything at all. Even when his eyes adjusted, his vision swirled and wobbled, and all he got was a sickening, unfocused impression of whiteness.

He waited a few minutes, and gradually his sight steadied and sharpened. When it did, though, he yelled and scrambled backwards, thumping into a wall and huddling there, terrified.

The Initiative.

He was back in the fucking Initiative.

As he fought down his panic, he remembered that the Initiative had been destroyed, and Maggie Walsh was deader than him, and all that was behind him.

But then where the fuck was he?

White tiles covered the walls and floor of the small room, just as they had in his cell underneath Sunnydale. The ceiling was tiled as well, with a bright bulb that glared painfully and, in the corner, a black object that he expected was a camera. Unlike his old cell, however, this room did not have a glass window; instead, all four walls appeared solid.

Using the slippery wall to support himself, he struggled upright again and took a more careful look around. There was nothing in the cell but him and the bulb and the camera, and he was naked. The ceiling was at least twelve feet up, too far for him to jump. He heard only his own haggard breathing, and the only scent was the very faint ammonia of cleaning products.

Panic washed over him again. He screamed and shouted, the sound deafening as it bounced off the hard walls. He pounded and clawed at the tiles, but succeeded only in leaving bloody swipes where he split his knuckles and tore his nails. He rushed at the walls with his shoulders, and then bounced back, bruised and aching.

Eventually he leaned in a corner, exhausted. He looked up at the camera. “Who are you, then?” he called. “What the bloody hell do you want from me?”

There was no answer.

 

There was simply no way to get comfortable in this room. All the surfaces were cold and hard, and no matter how he positioned himself, the tiles ground against his body and seeped their chill into the core of his body. The glaring light never dimmed. He was beginning to wonder if he had met final death, and if this were some kind of hell. He’d rather have burned.

But then there was a small clicking sound and one of the tiles above him slid open, and a large packet of red fluid dropped through to splat onto the floor. He remembered the drugged blood in the Initiative, but he didn’t care. He was terribly hungry by now and besides, if they drugged him, that might mean they would take him out of the cell. And that might mean he had some small hope of escape. So he seized the packet and tore it open, and gratefully gulped down the contents. It was pig, and cold.

Nothing happened. He didn’t grow weak or pass out. Nobody came for him. The empty plastic bag sat on the floor, and so did he.

Some time later, another bag dropped out of the ceiling. He was hungry again, so he drank it as well.

Eventually, he accumulated several dozen of the things. He stacked them neatly and used them as a pillow, even though they crackled annoyingly every time he stirred. At least they were softer than the floor.

He slept a lot. When he was awake, he sang and talked to himself, and paced the few steps the small space allowed, and wondered how long it would take before he was completely mad.

One day the blood really must have been laced with something, because after he drank he became groggy and fell unconscious. But when he awoke he was still in the cell—he knew it was the same one because of the blood smeared on the tiles—and now the bags were all gone.

He curled up in the corner and sobbed.

 

After a time, he stopped feeding. It wasn’t that he feared being drugged again. He expected that if his captors wanted him doped up they’d find some other way to do it. It was only…not eating was the only choice he was able to make, the one small freedom available to him. The hunger gnawed at him angrily for a time, but that didn’t really matter. Eventually there would be coma and then brain damage, he knew, and that was better than this nothing.

The full bags piled up atop the empty ones. He lay in a fetal position in the corner, his back to the center of the room, and waited.

His senses were dulled so that he didn’t notice the new thing at first. And then it came again, a quiet _whirr_. Slowly, he shifted onto his back. A black object had appeared, suspended slightly from the ceiling, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. Ah. It was a video screen.

Just as he recognized it, it flashed to solid blue, then black, then back to blue. And then a picture came into view. Three people sat at a table in what appeared to be a posh conference room. Behind one of them was a window, and he could see that it was day, and there was an expansive view of a city skyline. He thought—yes, there was the Chrysler Building. New York, then.

The three people were all men, all wearing suits. The one on the left was perhaps forty, thin and balding, with a hooked nose like a bird’s beak. The center man was older, near sixty, perhaps. He had a pinkish face and a full head of white hair and a neat mustache and beard. There was a pad of yellow paper before him, and what looked like a television remote control. The man on the right was Lindsey McDonald.

Painfully, Spike shuffled around until he was seated, his back propped against the wall and his bony legs straight out before him. He was too weak to sit on his own.

“Hello, Spike,” said the older bloke. “Do you know who we are?”

“Twats,” Spike said, his long-unused voice as course as rough gravel.

The man smiled. “I’m Steven Braddock. I’m CEO of Wolfram and Hart’s east coast division.” Spike wasn’t exactly surprised to learn who his captors were, but he was too frail and weary to care. Braddock motioned toward the balding man. “This is Paul French, head of Special Projects. And of course,” he gestured in the other direction, “you know Lindsey McDonald.”

Lindsey’s hands were laced together on the table top, and his face was completely blank. He was wearing a nice suit, and his blue shirt showed off his eyes very well.

“Are you not enjoying our hospitality, Spike?”

“Sod off,” Spike mumbled.

“We went to some trouble to track you down, you know. What the hell were you doing in Minden, Nebraska?”

Spike didn’t bother to answer.

“This doesn’t have to be an antagonistic relationship, Spike. If you’re willing to work with us, we could make your…situation…much more comfortable. What would you think of that?”

Spike used two fingers to reply, and Braddock laughed heartily. “You are a feisty one, aren’t you? But let’s get down to brass tacks. I know you have a busy schedule.” He laughed again at his own joke. “Here’s the deal. You agree to work with us, become one of the team. You like to work with a group, don’t you? First it was Angelus and the ladies, then those kids in Sunnydale, and then Angel and his friends. Now it can be us. And in return, your accommodations will be much approved.”

He frowned like stern father. “Now, of course, it will take some time for trust to be built. So at first, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue to use several…restrictions.” He gestured, and the camera panned across the table. An assortment of chains and shackles was arrayed there and, in the center, a collar quite like the one he’d bought Lindsey.

The camera moved back to the men and Braddock continued. “Eventually, we hope to get rid of these unpleasant necessities, and then you’ll be quite free to roam about.

“What do you say, Spike?”

“Get bent.”

Braddock sighed heavily. “I’m sure you realize that just as we can make you more comfortable, we also have it in our power to make you _less_ comfortable if you don’t cooperate.” He pressed a button on the remote.

A powerful electric jolt surged through the floor and into Spike’s body. Spike screamed and tried to escape the pain, but he could barely support his own weight, and in any case the pain was everywhere. It went on and on and he finally collapsed to his knees, howling and trembling.

After an eternity, the shock ended. Spike sank onto his side, still moaning. Dimly, he heard Braddock say, “Think about it. We’ll talk more later.”

 

The next day—or maybe it was longer than that; who knew?—the video screen descended again, and once again Braddock appeared, flanked by French and Lindsey. Lindsey’s shirt was maroon this time. Spike hadn’t moved at all. What was the point?

“You’ve had some chance to consider our offer, Spike. Ready to accept?”

Spike only curled more tightly into himself.

“Well, maybe you’ll reconsider soon,” Braddock said. Then the electric jolt came again, and even though Spike had tried to brace himself beforehand, the agony was still searing.

After that, the screen reappeared periodically. Spike no longer looked up to see it. Each time, Braddock repeated his offer, and each time Spike’s refusal to answer was followed by the shock. Spike hardly had the strength to move any more, and would mostly twitch and shudder as the electricity coursed through him. His vocal chords were ruined from his screams, and now he could make only a hoarse rasp.

He wondered if Lindsey enjoyed watching him writhe.

He tried to end his existence the only way he could, by dashing his brains out on the hard tile. He wasn’t certain that would work, actually, but he attempted it anyway, smashing his head into the wall repeatedly as hard as he could. But either he was too weak to accomplish enough damage, or else his body’s abilities of self-preservation were more than he’d thought, because he only blacked out. When he came to, new scarlet marks were still drying on the tiles.

“Spike,” Lindsey said. “All you have to do is say yes.” Or perhaps that was just a dream, or a voice in his head. There were voices in his head, just as there had been when he regained his soul and haunted the high school basement. Just as then, these voices all were angry, they all hated him.

He tried to remember kind words. He knew he’d heard them now and them. From his mum, so long ago. From Dru, yeah? From Joyce, oh, Joyce. From Buffy, right at the end. But the rage and the yelling and the demands drowned them out, and there was no escape, and all he could do was press his cheek to the cool tile and close his eyes and wait for the next pain.

 

[Chapter Five](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/42882.html#cutid1)

 


	5. Double Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Double Crossing, 5/8**_  
**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 5 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Double+Crossing&filter=all).

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
---  
  
****

Chapter Five

 

“Just a little more, okay? Just a few more sips.”

Obediently, Spike swallowed, and the rich taste of fresh, healing blood filled his mouth. The blood slipped down his throat to his empty belly, somehow energizing and soothing at the same time. It wasn’t animal blood, although it wasn’t human, either. It was…sire’s blood.

Spike cracked his eyelids open.

Angel.

God, Angel was hovering over him, his face creased with concern. Spike squirmed a little and realized that Angel was holding his own torn wrist to Spike’s mouth, and that was the source of the blood still trickling into his mouth. Spike’s head was pillowed in Angel’s lap, and Angel’s other arm was slightly supporting his shoulders.

“Don’t try to move yet. Christ, you’re a mess. How long has it been since you fed?”

Spike blinked slowly at him. He wasn’t sure if this was real. Could be another hallucination. If so, he hoped it didn’t end soon.

“The wound’s closing. Want me to open it again, or do you want to wait a little while?”

Spike moved his head slightly to the side, breaking the contact between his lips and Angel’s skin.

“Okay,” Angel said, moving his arm away, and easing Spike’s head completely down onto his thighs. “Is this okay? Does it hurt your head?”

Spike tried to answer, but couldn’t summon enough energy. His lids felt so heavy. He thought he felt Angel stroking his face, but that truly was delusional.

 

He came to again in the same place, in the same mirage. Angel’s wrist was at Spike’s lips, and Angel’s blood was in his throat.

“Hey. Are you feeling a little stronger?”

Spike wondered irritably how he was supposed to answer with his mouth full of vampire. And then he realized that if he was capable of that thought, then he truly was a bit stronger. He swallowed again, and it didn’t just taste delicious, it felt wonderful, as well. It had been such a long time since he’d had sire’s blood. Dru used to let him sip at her now and then, but that was a decade ago. Angel’s taste had always been richer, stronger, more intoxicating, but Spike hadn’t tasted _him_ since the nineteenth century.

Spike swallowed several more times, staring all the while into Angel’s brown eyes, which were filled with worry. For the first time in ages his stomach felt nearly full, and his wounds were beginning to heal. But then it occurred to him to wonder how much of Angel he’d drunk, and he groaned slightly and detached himself.

“Enough for now, huh? All right.”

Spike was better able to take stock of his situation now. He was still in the white room, although it was no longer so white, as the tiles were liberally streaked with rusty bloodstains, and plastic bags—both empty and full—were scattered about the floor. Angel’s back was against one wall, his legs out in front of him, and Spike’s head was across his powerful thighs. Spike became aware that Angel was as naked as he was, and he groaned louder. He must be a prisoner, too.

“How long have you been here, Spike?”

Spike tried to form words. “Don’t…know.” His voice was barely audible.

“How long after you left m—left LA did they catch you?”

He tried to think. “A week,” he finally said. “Perhaps…two.”

Angel shut his eyes as if he was in pain. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “That was a year ago.”

That piece of news didn’t surprise Spike. Didn’t especially distress him, either. Time had lost meaning to him.

“I’m sorry, William. God, I’m so sorry.” Angel’s eyes glistened with tears, and now Spike was surprised. Why was Angel apologizing to him?

“How….” he croaked. “How are you here?”

Angel leaned his head against the wall. “I…I was looking for you.”

Spike must not have heard correctly. His head was all muddled. “What?” he asked.

Angel sighed. “I was looking for you. I got a call a couple weeks after you left. My car’d been impounded in Nebraska. I figured you’d run out of gas money, or decided to steal something better, or, I don’t know. Hitched a ride somewhere. And then…all this crap started happening in LA, and I was really busy.” He banged his head softly back against the tiles, three times.

“The situation in LA got out of hand. I couldn’t…couldn’t handle it myself. So I left. Went searching for you.”

That made more sense, Spike thought. His grandsire needed an ally, and that was why he wanted Spike. Not because---Not for any other reasons.

“I couldn’t find any sign of you anywhere. And usually, you’re kind of a noticeable guy. You’re not really very good at lying low. But there was nothing.

“So I thought maybe Wolfram and Hart knew something. I mean, after what that Chaos demon said at The Pit, and what Lindsey told us…and I’m pretty sure they’re behind the shit going on in LA, too. I came to New York. Tried to sneak into their offices. Got caught.”

“Berk,” said Spike softly.

“Yeah.” Another heavy sigh. “Yeah. I’ve been in another cell for, I don’t know. A couple weeks maybe. Then they drugged me and I woke up in here. What the fuck have they been doing to you, Spike?”

“Persuading me to…join the team.”

“Fuck.”

Spike let his eyes fall closed. Just this short conversation had exhausted him. And, against all reason, he felt somehow safe, cradled in Angel’s lap like this. He knew the feeling wouldn’t last, so he ought to enjoy it while he could.

“Spike? Why didn’t you say yes?”

“Not…not to those wankers.”

Was that Angel’s hand gently brushing the hair back from his face? He couldn’t manage to get his eyes open enough to tell.

“Rest more, Will. We’ll talk later.”

Will?

 

He woke again with Angel’s wrist in his mouth. It was becoming a habit, although not one he regretted.

“Morning.”

Spike licked slightly at the wound. He was able to lift his own hands and use them to gently push Angel’s arm away. “’M taking too much.”

“Nah, it’s fine. They’ve been dumping plenty of animal blood in here. I’m feeding well.”

“I should drink that.”

“No. You’ll heal better with mine.”

It was true. In fact, he felt strong enough now that he slowly raised himself out of Angel’s lap and into a sitting position. He swayed a bit, and Angel caught his shoulder and steadied him.

“Why…why did they stick you in here with me?”

“Don’t know.”

It worried Spike, because he was certain the double-celling wasn’t accomplished out of the goodness of their shrunken black hearts. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it, so he painstakingly scooted himself around until he could lean his back against the wall as well, right next to Angel.

“We’ve got out of worse than this before,” Angel said, looking down at their bare legs. Spike’s were skeletal and dirty.

“Yeah? When?”

“That mineshaft in Yorkshire.”

“Pfft. That was easy. Just a load of lumpy locals to deal with. Besides, there were four of us, then.”

“What about that cave, that time, in, uh….”

“Afghanistan.”

“Yeah. Aghanistan. Those guys had guns and bayonets and—“

“But there were still four of us. Besides, that was a hundred years ago, mate. They didn’t have Tasers and dart guns and all those lovely toys.”

Angel sighed. Spike wished he could lean his head against that broad shoulder. That would be nice.

After a time, Spike said, “Lindsey’s here.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw him. Smug bastard. I should’ve killed him again, slower this time.”

“Sorry.”

Angel rolled his head so he was looking at Spike. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe I’m actually gonna say this, Spike, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. I knew he was up to no good, and I still brought him home, and—“

“And it didn’t matter. They would have caught up with us sooner or later. There’s just so goddamn many of them, and they just keep coming….” His voice trailed away dispiritedly.

“You could give in, Liam. Go over to the dark side, yeah? I’m sure they could relieve you of that soul and then you’d have a brilliant time of it.”

“No,” Angel replied, simply.

Both were silent a long time. Then, quietly, Angel said, “Are you sorry you did it, Spike? Got your soul back? You wouldn’t be here without it.”

Spike had to consider this question for a time. He’d never been one to spend much time regretting the past—which was fortunate, because he had far too much of it to regret. If he hadn’t regained his soul, he wouldn’t have returned to Sunnydale. Then probably Angel would have worn that pendant, and…and it made his head hurt even to think about it.

Finally, he turned and looked at Angel. “’M not sorry,” was all he could manage. He wished he could explain why, explain that despite everything, he’d enjoyed fighting at Angel’s side again, this last few years. Enjoyed the closest thing to companionship and friendship he was ever likely to get from his grandsire. Enjoyed—Fuck. He couldn’t say any of that.

 

The days passed, marked only by the arrival of fresh bags of blood. The video screen didn’t reappear, and there were no agonizing shocks. Spike grew gradually stronger, and eventually he switched to feeding from the plastic packets. He would have preferred to continue to drink from Angel, and Angel didn’t seem to mind, but he didn’t need sire’s blood any longer. And every time Angel’s body was pressed to his, Spike was reminded of what he wanted and could never have.

There was nothing to do, still, but the boredom was much less with company, even when they were silent for hours on end. Sometimes they did talk, though. They reminisced about their adventures, both recent and long past. They speculated about what the Slayer and her crew were up to; neither of them truly had anything but the vaguest ideas. They learned a lot more details about what they had each done, the century or so they had spent apart. They even spoke of their human lives. Angel recalled his sister, Kathy, whom he’d murdered, and his father, with whom he’d never got on. And Spike talked about his own father, who’d been cold and distant to William and his mum, and whom William had barely missed when the old man died, just past the boy’s eleventh birthday.

They slept side by side in the tiny room, and Spike itched for the touch of the other vampire, but their only contact now was accidental, as when their shoulders brushed each other in passing. At least Spike could watch, though, and he did, silently admiring the play of powerful muscles under smooth skin. Sometimes one or both of their cocks would harden as they gazed at each other, and Spike reminded himself that in Angel’s case it meant nothing, just bloody demon libido, and they’d both stoically ignore their erections until they went away.

Spike expected that eventually, one or both of them was going to go mental, and then perhaps they’d finally dust each other. But for now, they were calm, as they waited for Wolfram and Hart to make their next move.

 

The next move began with drugged blood for both of them. They looked blearily at each other. Angel crumpled first, but Spike was only a second or two later. He had just enough time to be thankful that Angel’s body had cushioned his fall, and then he was out.

He awoke in less comfortable circumstances. He was, in fact, bound to what felt like a metal table. Heavy cuffs were snapped tightly around his ankles, wrists, biceps, thighs, neck, and forehead, so that the only movement he could manage was a slight arching of his back. He couldn’t even turn his head, but could only stare up at the ceiling, which was identical to that of his cell, but larger. For the first time in ages, he was out of that tiny room, but his situation really hadn’t improved any.

A quiet groan came from the floor to his left. “Angel?” he said.

There was an answering groan. A moment later, Angel’s face appeared to hover over his. His grandsire was looking a bit wobbly and green around the gills. “Spike? What the hell?”

“Can you get me out of this?” Spike was trying to pull against his fetters, but he was getting nowhere.

Angel walked around Spike, inspecting him and the shackles. “They’re locked. I can’t see any way to open them.” He tugged at them, too, hard enough that his fingers bled a bit, but they didn’t give.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. It looks just like our cell, only bigger.” Angel disappeared from Spike’s field of vision, and Spike heard him thumping and slamming at the walls. To no avail, of course.

Angel had just approached again when there was a whirring noise, and one of the ceiling tiles slid aside. A video screen dropped down at an angle that made it visible to Spike. The screen blinked on, and there were the three men, as usual. Lindsey’s face looked tight, though, and he had a small tic in one eye.

“Hello!” said Braddock jovially. “Enjoying the change in accommodations, boys?”

Spike and Angel growled in unison, which made Braddock chuckle. “Well, this has worked out even better than we’d hoped. Angel, Spike didn’t seem very pleased with our offer. But maybe we can interest you instead.”

“Fuck you,” Angel rumbled.

Braddock shook his head. “You are a stubborn family. Well, let’s give you some incentive, okay?” He pressed a button on the plastic device in front of him.

Horrible, ripping agony shot through Spike’s body. It wasn’t an electric shock this time. He had no idea what it was, in fact, and it didn’t really matter. It felt like every molecule in his body was bathed in holy water. It was worse than being consumed by fire. In a long existence in which he’d frequently made pain’s acquaintance, this was the worst he had ever experienced. He was never as thankful for anything as he was to finally lose consciousness.

He came to in his familiar spot in Angel’s lap. Angel’s fingers were carding through his hair, and the taste of sire’s blood was on his tongue. He blinked and looked around. They seemed to be back in their original cell, but it had been cleaned in their absence. The empty bags and bloodstreaks were gone, and the scent of ammonia was strong.

“Are you still hurting, Spike?”

Spike did a quick self-assessment. He ached in several spots where he must have bruised and torn himself against the shackles, but that was all. The all-encompassing pain was gone. Gingerly, he pulled himself up so he was seated. “Nah,” he replied. “’M all right.”

“Fuck. That was—“

“Did they hurt you as well?”

Angel shook his head. “Just you.”

Spike felt a bit of relief settle into him.

Angel scooted himself around until he was facing Spike, and laid a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “Spike, they said they’re gonna keep on…doing that to you, every couple days until I give in.”

Spike couldn’t suppress a shudder at the thought of more, but then he laughed bitterly. “Idiots,” he said. “Thinking that torturing me is going to get them you.”

“What do you want me to do?” Angel was staring at him intensely.

“Can’t do anything, can you? Except watch, I expect.”

Angel shook his head. “I can’t…I can’t let them torture you, Spike.”

“I’m sure it won’t endanger your redemption any. Not your bloody fault, is it? Besides, it’s only me.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with redemption. I can’t…I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Spike’s mouth gaped open in shock. Angel scrambled clumsily to his feet and then stomped to the far corner of the room, where he stood with his arms crossed on his chest and his broad back to Spike. Spike stared at his tattoo for a moment and then got to his feet as well, only a bit unsteadily. He made his way the few steps over to Angel.

“Say again?”

Angel whirled, and stuck his angry face inches from Spike’s. “I don’t want you hurt, because I fucking care about you, okay? Happy now?”

Spike stood frozen in place for a moment, slowly processing what Angel had said. And then he felt an enormous grin nearly split his face. But Angel mistook it for a mocking smile, and he growled and pushed roughly past, clomping to another corner.

After another moment, Spike followed him, and he put a hand gently on Angel’s back. Angel tensed. Spike said, “I am happy now, actually.”

This time when Angel spun around his great brow was furrowed with confusion. “I’m not in the mood for games, William!”

Spike placed both of his hands on Angel’s shoulders. He looked up into Angel’s eyes, willing him to see the truth in what he was saying. “’M not playing.” He took a deep breath. “I care about you as well, git. Always have.”

He steeled himself for a blow, or an explosion of some kind. But Angel just stared at him, his mouth open. And then he reached out and grasped the sides of Spike’s head and yanked him forward for a hard, demanding kiss.

They both knew there was a camera watching them. Spike didn’t bloody care. Within minutes, he was pushed back against one wall, pinned there by Angel’s weight. Angel’s legs were slightly spread, and their lips were locked together in a kiss that would have suffocated them both if they had needed to breathe. Angel had his big hand wrapped around both of their achingly hard cocks and was applying exactly the right pressure while pumping his hips hard into Spike. Spike grasped Angel’s arse with both hands and the strong muscles underneath his palms bunched and stretched deliciously.

Spike’s head thumped hard enough against the tile that he saw stars for a moment, but he only clutched harder at Angel, and thrust his own pelvis forward. He was not going to last long at all.

And then Angel pulled his head away and Spike watched as his grandsire’s eyes turned yellow and his fangs descended. Spike arched his neck to the side and Angel struck.

“Oh, fuck…fuck…fuck…” was all that Spike could say as a lovely ribbon of fire made its way from his carotid to his groin, and then he couldn’t even say that much, but could only howl as his climax tore through him and Angel groaned into his skin and his belly was bathed in their cold seed.

Still shaking slightly with the aftershocks, they slid to the floor, both breathing in great gasps. Spike suddenly didn’t care about whether Angel would think him a big girl’s blouse. He crawled into Angel’s lap and wrapped his arms around those broad shoulders and pressed his head into the crook of his corded neck. Angel held him tightly and they rocked together, buffeted by joy and sorrow and release and relief.

 

[Chapter Six](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/43215.html)


	6. Double Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Double Crossing, 6/8**_  
**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 6 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Double+Crossing&filter=all).

**Didn't I say I was impatient? I'll post the last two chapters tomorrow. **

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
---  
  
**Chapter Six**

Wolfram and Hart kept their word.

After what Spike reckoned was three or four days, a tile on the ceiling slid open. A long, slender, black cylinder poked through, there was a muffled _bang_, and a dart hit Angel in the shoulder. There was nowhere for Spike to go to escape, and he didn’t even try. A dart shot into his chest a moment later.

He woke up bolted to the table, just as before, only this time Angel was standing over him, smoothing back his hair. “Tell me what you want me to do,” Angel whispered. “I’ll agree if you say so.”

“No. Don’t…don’t do it. Please.” Spike couldn’t have articulated why he felt so strongly about this, why he was willing to continue to be tormented rather than give in. He expected it was at least in part because he was terribly stubborn. Always had been, even as a human. He’d never once given in to torture—not from Angelus or Glory or the First—and he wasn’t about to begin now. If anything, the more he was hurt, the more he dug in his heels. On top of that, he didn’t want to be the reason Angel capitulated. Even if they both knew it wasn’t Spike’s fault, Angel would end up resenting him for it, and whatever happened in the end, Spike didn’t want to lose the fragile warmth his grandsire now held for him.

Angel shook his head sadly and bent down to kiss Spike’s forehead.

The screen descended, and there was the usual trio. Spike knew he wasn’t imagining it this time—the corners of Lindsey’s mouth were drawn down and his eyes were deeply shadowed. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

Braddock repeated his usual spiel. Angel only glowered at the screen. This time, though, Lindsey blurted, “For God’s sake, Angel! Do it! They ain’t gonna give up. They’ll destroy him.”

Braddock smiled nastily at Lindsey, clearly displeased with his outburst. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. McDonald. You’re quite right. We will break Spike, piece by little piece. Agree and you can keep him as your lover, Angel. Don’t, and all you’ll be left with is a pretty little shell.”

Angel turned his back to the screen and gazed down at Spike’s face. Truthfully, Spike was terrified. But he curled his tongue around his teeth and gave Angel his very best leer, as if he were lying in bed instead of chained to a torture device. Angel used his fingertips to stroke Spike’s face, and continued to caress him even as the agony tore through him, even as he screamed and cried.

 

Every few days, they were drugged and returned to the larger cell. They both ignored the screen completely now, just waiting for the pain to begin.

Afterwards, when Spike awoke, Angel held him and rubbed his back, and soothed him when he sobbed, and sometimes even sang him quiet little Gaelic lullabies. Spike didn’t tell him that after every session, he felt weaker and weaker, and his hold on his own sanity felt more and more tenuous. The thought of just withdrawing into himself, sinking deeply into some tiny pocket of his own head and never coming out, was becoming increasingly attractive.

In fact, he would have been lost long ago, but for Angel’s comforting acts. They’d make love on the cold, bare floor of their cell, slowly, sweetly, murmuring endearments into each others’ ears. Spike had had sex thousands of times, but it was usually hard and violent. Dru liked to scratch with her fingernails and bite; it was like shagging a tiger, sometimes. Buffy was as likely to swing a fist as to kiss his lips. This was so different that sometimes Spike had to hold back tears at what he had been missing all these years.

After one long session, while they were still entangled with one another, Spike said, “Dust me, Angel.”

Angel lifted his head and frowned. “What?”

“Dust me. Just…twist my head off, yeah? Finally, a fight with me you can win.”

His attempt to bait Angel didn’t work. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t go on like this, pet.”

Angel drew away and sat up. “I thought…I thought you liked….”

Spike sat too. “I do. I…bloody hell. I love you, all right? I have for ages.”

“For…for how long?”

Spike smiled. “Since the nineteenth century, love.”

“Since the…. Why the hell didn’t you say anything before?”

“I knew you didn’t feel the same way.” He shrugged. “I expected if I told you, you’d stake me. Or just laugh.” That would have been worse than being staked.

“Moron! Of course I felt the same way! Why do you think I didn’t kill you, all those years when you had no soul? Not even when you were stalking Buffy.”

“Well, you bloody well never gave me any hints about it. Those punches you threw at me weren’t exactly love pats, Peaches.”

“How was I supposed to know you loved me, Spike? When you were so goddamn annoying, and calling me names like that. And…and you were evil.”

“I would have been good for you. If you’d asked.”

“Well…fuck.” Angel laughed. “Over a hundred years, and we’ve both been a pair of fucking idiots.”

Spike scooted closer to Angel and rested his head on Angel’s shoulder. “You were the bigger fool. Look what you were turning away, all those years.”

Angel slapped him lightly on the arse and then kissed the top of his head.

“So, we love each other, yeah?” Spike sighed. “You still have to dust me.”

“What? Why?”

Spike stroked Angel’s face. “There’s no way out of this for me, love. I can’t win. And I’d rather go out quick like, at your hands, than slowly at theirs.”

Angel shook his head. “You’ll go to hell, Spike. You’ll…I’ve been there. It’s worse than this.”

“So have I, remember? Know what I’m getting into. Have known, for a long time. But at least I’ll always know…know that you love me, and you didn’t give in to these bastards on my account.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t kill you, Spike.”

Spike nodded. “All right. But it’s going to get worse, yeah? And I can’t hold on much longer. Please. Promise me when they’ve broken me, you’ll end it. Promise me, love.”

Angel blinked tears from his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Okay. I promise,” he whispered.

 

The next time they were taken to the other cell, the other man finally spoke. His voice was reedy and nasal. “Why are you being so pig-headed about this, Angel? You know you can’t win. Maybe you enjoy watching your lover in pain.”

“Jealous, are you?” Spike hissed at him. “I’ll wager nobody loves you. Not even your own mum.”

The angry glint in the bloke’s eye—French, that was his name—told Spike he’d struck a chord. “Shut up!” French spat.

“You thought the money and the power these tossers gave you would make up for you being such a pathetic twat, that some bird would be magically drawn to you.” There was no wedding band on the man’s fisted fingers. “Didn’t work, did it? You’re still a loser.”

“Shut up!!”

French lunged for the remote control, but Lindsey grabbed it away. Spike watched with smug satisfaction as Braddock tried to calm French down. Finally, the younger man was ushered out of the room, and Braddock pried the plastic device from Lindsey’s fingers. “That was amusing,” Braddock said, not appearing amused in the least. “Almost as funny as this.” And he pressed the button.

When Spike came to this time he was sitting in Angel’s lap, propped against his grandsire’s chest. He blinked and wiggled a bit, and Angel said, “Spike?”

“Hmm.” His mouth didn’t seem to be working yet.

“Oh, thank gods.”

“What?” Spike managed. The room was pulsing in and out of focus in an irritating manner.

“You’ve been staring at nothing for two days. You wouldn’t even blink.”

“I…. Sorry?” His mind was sluggish, too, like his old DeSoto’s engine on a cold morning.

Angel squeezed him more tightly. “What’s going on, Will?”

Spike liked it when Angel called him that. “Don’t…don’t know,” he struggled to reply. “Can’t….” He sighed. “Hurts, ‘Gelus. End it. Please.”

Angel rocked him and pressed his lips into Spike’s hair. “All right. All right, Will.” Spike heard him swallow. “It’s over. It’s all over, okay?” He leaned their foreheads together, and Spike saw that Angel was crying.

He wanted to say something comforting, he truly did, but he couldn’t get his brain to work properly. So he managed what he could. “Love you, Sire. Thank…thank you. Love….”

Angel’s hands wrapped around his neck, large and cold and strong. He wondered if decapitation was more or less painful than incineration. He’d find out in a moment, anyhow. He smiled, and Angel’s hands tightened.

“STOP!!”

Angel scrambled to his feet, dragging Spike upwards with him by his biceps. He shoved Spike into a corner and stood against him, propping him up and shielding him.

One of the walls was gone. It had slipped to the side, revealing a corridor and a greenish wall on the other side. Lindsey McDonald was standing in the opening, his hands raised, palm-outwards, at shoulder height. He was dressed in jeans and a faded blue t-shirt.

“Don’t kill him!”

Spike couldn’t see Angel’s face, but he could feel the growl that rumbled through him, and he had a good idea he was pretty fangy right now.

Lindsey didn’t move from his spot, but he looked nervously over one shoulder. “Listen. I can get you out of here. But we have to move quick. You gotta trust me. Please.”

“Trust you? You son of a bitch. You—“

“Do it.” Angel turned and looked at Spike incredulously. “Do…do what…he says.” Spike had no idea whether this was another of Lindsey’s tricks. But he did know that standing in the corner and snarling wasn’t going to do any good at all.

“C’mon! We don’t have time, Angel!”

Angel looked back and forth between Spike and Lindsey. With another growl, he pulled Spike against himself. “Can you walk?” he asked.

“Can try.”

Angel moved forward, still baring his teeth at Lindsey. Spike stumbled a bit—his legs weren’t any more cooperative than the rest of him—but Angel caught him. Lindsey backed out into the hallway and gestured urgently at them to follow. They did, with Angel half carrying Spike.

“Hurry!” Lindsey said. The three of them struggled down the corridor. It was dimly lit, with a scuffed tile floor. The walls were set with doors, each of which looked as if it slid open. The hall ended in a T, and Lindsey led them to the right, down an identical hallway, until they came to a lift. He pushed the button and seemed relieved when the doors instantly opened. They hurried inside and Lindsey punched a button with a large green G on it. The lift moved upwards. Seconds later, the door opened.

They were in an underground car park. Spike wasn’t any more ambulatory than he had been to begin with, and he was beginning to fear that Angel was going to have to just pick him up and carry him like a baby. But Lindsey took them to a battered old pickup that was parked very close by. He reached inside the truck and pulled out a small pile of clothes. “Here. Put these on.” He ran around and climbed behind the wheel.

Angel propped Spike against the truck and helped him pull on a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose red t-shirt. Then Angel put on his own clothing, identical except the shirt was green.

“Get in, get in!” urged Lindsey. Angel shoved Spike into the center of the seat and then slid in beside him. His door wasn’t even fully closed yet before Lindsey was tearing out of his parking spot, heading toward the exit.

It must have been late at night. There was very little traffic, even though they were obviously in the heart of Manhattan. Lindsey screeched his way through the streets, and soon they were through a tunnel and then out of the city, barreling down a New Jersey freeway.

“What the hell are you doing, Lindsey?”

“Seein’ how far away we can get before sunrise. We only got about two more hours.”

“Why shouldn’t I break your neck right now and toss you by the side of the road?”

“’Cause I have a plan to get you two safe, that’s why. ‘Sides, you know I won’t stay dead anyway.”

“Why would you want to get us safe?”

“I told you…told you back in LA. I wanted to be Spike’s. I really did.”

“Sure, and that’s why you sat there and watched them torture him all these months.”

Spike just listened to the conversation cross over him. His head was spinning dizzily, and it was taking all his concentration to try to follow what they were saying.

“After I left LA, they picked me back up really quick. Didn’t even make it to the Oregon border. They dragged me to New York and I had to watch when they brought Spike in. I told ‘em Spike wouldn’t come to Houston with me, that you were both cruel and I’d had a hard time escaping. Those bruises you gave me went a long way to convincin’ them, man. I thought…I thought maybe if I played along, I’d find a way to get him free. But they didn’t trust me enough to let me near him. Tonight I finally managed to get to you. Had to kill a couple security guards myself.”

“I can’t imagine why they don’t trust you,” Angel said drily.

“Yeah. So I watched while they hurt him. Spike, why didn’t you just fuckin’ give in? It woulda got you outta there, and I could’ve maybe helped then.”

“Wankers,” was the only reply Spike could manage.

“He tried to bash his head open, Angel. Did he tell you that? I had to watch that too.” Lindsey’s voice was high-pitched and slightly frantic.

Angel growled an unintelligible reply and gripped Spike’s knee tightly, as if he could undo past damage.

“And then they caught you. What the hell were you thinkin’, just waltzin’ on into the place? What’d you think was gonna happen?”

“I thought I was gonna rip a few of you bastards apart before you dusted me.”

“Well, you did manage to take out a good chunk of the security department, I’ll give you that. They were wipin’ blood off the walls for days. But they got you anyway. It was my idea to put you together. I told them you’d give in to save him. I thought they’d just keep zappin’ him. And then…fuck. That room.

“What did you do to him? What’s wrong with him?”

Lindsey swore under his breath and blew by a lorry like it was standing still. “That table has some kind of wifi device in it. The firm calls it the Convincer. It directly stimulates the pain centers in the brain. I had it used on me once. It’s…bad.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. And if it’s used enough, it actually damages the brain. I think that’s what happened to Spike.”

“You gave him brain damage?!” Spike waited for the barb about how his brain was bad enough as-is, but it didn’t come. Angel only wrapped his arm around Spike’s shoulders and pulled him tightly against himself.

“You could have stopped it!” Lindsey yelled. “All you had to do was—“

“No,” Spike said. “Wouldn’t let him. Won’t.”

“You are the two most stubborn fuckers I have ever met.” Lindsey shook his head. “Will…will he heal?”

“I don’t know,” Angel answered darkly.

“Did before,” mumbled Spike, remembering the times the Initiative had mucked about with his head. He was tired, though, and couldn’t keep his eyes open. Angel and Lindsey were still bickering as he fell asleep.

 

He woke up in a bed. That was nice. He hadn’t been on a soft surface for so long. Angel was next to him, curled around him, really, his brow smooth as he slept. He looked very young. Spike turned his head and saw that Lindsey was snoring softly on a second bed. They must be in a motel room, he thought. There was an ugly print of a sailing ship on one wall, and an older television on a slightly battered chest of drawers near the foot of the bed. A window with a brownish patterned curtain was set into the wall beside Lindsey’s bed. He looked longingly at the small strip of sunlight that escaped around the drapery’s edge.

Spike considered sitting up, but it would take so much effort. Instead he rolled carefully onto his side and watched Angel sleep.

It was several hours later when Angel stirred. Spike watched his eyes flutter open and then focus on him. “Hi,” Angel murmured. “How’re you feeling?”

“Thick.”

Angel chuckled and leaned forward to place a kiss on Spike’s forehead. “How does a bath sound?”

A bath sounded absolutely lovely. He hadn’t been remotely clean in ages. Spike smiled. Angel sat up and then glared over at the other bed, where Lindsey was propped on one elbow, rubbing his eyes with the other hand. “We need blood. Something from the butcher’s is fine for me, but he needs human.”

Lindsey shook his head. “I can’t get you human, not here. Maybe when we get farther west.”

“What’s your great plan?”

“Mostly, to get us the fuck away from here. But then, if you want…I know what’s goin’ on in LA. I can help you fight them there.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Fine. You got a better idea?”

Angel obviously didn’t. He stomped off to the loo, and a moment later, Spike could hear the water running.

Lindsey went out while the vampires bathed. He returned with several containers of pig’s blood and a couple changes of clothing for Spike and Angel. He’d brought a few things for himself in a small suitcase. Spike felt immensely better after Angel helped him get clean, even if his mind wasn’t functioning properly. He drank some of the animal blood, because at least it filled his belly. At Angel’s insistence, he also sank his fangs into Angel’s thick neck, and swallowed several mouthfuls of the wonderful stuff that flowed there.

As soon as it was dusk, they were back on the road. Spike lost track of where they were going, content to feel the truck bump under him and Angel’s bulk beside him, and to watch the highway lights flash by. He tried to tune out the nagging pain that wouldn’t go away.

Dawn caught up with them just past Indianapolis. Lindsey steered the truck into a motel parking lot. This time, the only room available had one queen-size bed. Angel and Spike shared it, and Lindsey slept on the floor next to Spike’s side. When they woke, it was still too light outside for the vampires. Lindsey went to find more blood as well as some food for himself. After he walked out the door, Angel pulled Spike into his lap. Spike liked it there. It felt safe. Comfortable.

“How are you doing, Will?”

“Stupid. Can’t…can’t think.”

Angel kissed his temple. “I know. We’ll fix it.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t…don’t let me…don’t want to be…like this.” Spike tried to wrap his tongue around what he was feeling. If they couldn’t mend him, he didn’t want to continue like this. It was a bit like being pissed, but he was never going to sober up.

“We’ll fix it,” Angel repeated, as if repetition could make it true. “We just need some human blood. Or….”

Spike blinked at Angel, who seemed lost in thought.

When Lindsey returned, Angel demanded he hand over his mobile phone. Lindsey did, looking bemused. Spike tried to follow the side of the conversation he could hear.

“Hey, Xander. It’s Angel.”

“It’s…a long story. I need to talk to Buffy.”

“Yeah, I know. But I really need her help. It’s Spike.”

“Okay.”

Angel hung up the phone and placed it on the nightstand.

“Who’s Buffy?” Lindsey asked, munching on a french fry.

“Slayer,” said Spike, happy he could contribute something.

“Huh?”

Angel poured some cow blood into a cup and handed it to Spike. Spike had to use two hands to drink it; he didn’t seem to have much fine muscle control. Angel ignored Lindsey’s question, and there was no way Spike could manage to answer it now.

The phone played a song. Spike recognized it and smiled. Hank Williams. “Your Cheatin’ Heart.”

Angel snatched the phone and flipped it open. “Buffy?” Angel gave Lindsey a baleful look, and took the phone with him into the loo. He shut the door. Spike could have listened in, had he wanted to—his hearing still worked fine—but he couldn’t be arsed. Instead, he sipped at his blood and watched Lindsey polish off his dinner.

Lindsey looked anxiously toward the loo. “I’m sorry, Spike. I truly am. Do you believe me?”

“Don’t know.” He wanted to, actually. But he didn’t trust his instincts at all right now.

“Angel will get you fixed up. And after he does, maybe…maybe you’ll be my Master again?” He looked hopeful as he said this, like a lost puppy trying to get adopted.

“Be free,” Spike said.

Lindsey shook his head. “No. I ain’t got it in me no more. I—“ Angel came out and tossed the phone at Lindsey, who caught it and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Angel said.

By the next morning they were near Oklahoma City. Spike watched the people they passed. They all dressed like Lindsey. But Lindsey seemed especially tense and jumpy, as if he didn’t like it here and couldn’t wait to leave. Angel clearly felt the same way, swearing to himself about the lack of necrotinted cars.

Spike didn’t especially care. He was happy to crawl into a soft bed, and feel Angel climb in behind him. Spike could see Lindsey falling asleep in the other bed, while he felt Angel’s big, soft cock nestled up against his arse. He wiggled a bit and felt that cock grow bigger and harder. “Cut it out!” Angel hissed into his ear, and Spike laughed.

They slept in Gallup the following morning. And then, finally, Lindsey raced the sun and pulled up in front of the Hyperion just before dawn. It looked abandoned. Angel helped Spike inside. Lindsey followed with the luggage in his hands. Angel sat Spike down on the circular seat in the center of the lobby, and Spike leaned back gratefully against the cushions. There was an ache deep in his bones that wouldn’t go away.

Angel began poking about the lobby, making sure the weapons cabinet was intact and that nothing else was damaged. Lindsey had dropped their bags on the floor, and now he followed Angel around the big room. “Angel, man, I’m tellin’ you, this is a mistake. It’s the first place they’re gonna look for you. Check into another hotel, at least for a while. I’ve got money.”

Angel growled in response. “If you want to go, be my guest. Don’t want you here anyway.”

Lindsey huffed with impatience and continued to trail behind him, trying to reason with him. But Spike could tell from the stubborn set to Angel’s jaw that the lawyer wasn’t going to get anywhere.

They’d been having this argument for the last couple hundred miles. Lindsey kept insisting Wolfram and Hart would show at the Hyperion with a welcome party, while Angel said the Hyperion was his, and he wasn’t going to cede it to those bastards. Nobody asked Spike what he thought, but if they had, he’d have agreed with Angel. He didn’t fancy hiding from their enemies like cowards. Besides, he thought, looking around the familiar space, this was home.

[Chapter Seven](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/43335.html)


	7. Double Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Double Crossing, 7/8**_  
**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 7 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Double+Crossing&filter=all).

**I'll post the final chapter this afternoon.**

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
---  
  
**Chapter Seven**

 

Spike sighed and settled back against the pillows. The stairs had proved too much for him, and Angel had carried him up to Angel’s suite. He’d set Spike on a chair while he placed fresh linens on the bed, and then he’d helped Spike undress and crawl between the sheets. He’d moved his telly around so Spike could see it from the bed. But the remote control had been unworkable with Spike’s clumsy fingers, and he’d thrown the thing across the room in frustration. Now he was stuck watching some lawyer program, when he’d had more than enough of lawyers, of late.

He’d never felt so bloody helpless in his life.

Angel had grudgingly allowed Lindsey to stay for now. Lindsey had spent the morning and early evening in Spike’s room. Spike wondered whether he slept on the bed, or in the corner where Spike had usually consigned him when he’d been Spike’s slave. Angel had slept next to Spike, his arms wrapped protectively around him, and that was wonderful. Spike wished they could have had a nice shag, but his body didn’t seem quite up to it, and besides, Angel was preoccupied with planning for battle.

Now it was early evening. Angel and Lindsey were downstairs somewhere, sorting out the weapons supply, perhaps. Spike was lonely. He knew that was stupid, especially after all the time he’d spent by himself in his cell. And he knew he’d only be a nuisance downstairs, something in the way. But still, he wished he could at least watch Angel and Lindsey while they worked.

He was trying to push away these sour thoughts, and wondering whether he could manage to make it across the room to the fridge and the fresh supply of animal blood that Angel had acquired this afternoon, when he heard a loud crash from downstairs. It was quickly followed by a desperate shout: “Angel!!”

“Fuck!” Spike said. He tried to get out of bed and promptly fell on his face. He used the mattress to pull himself up, but could only manage a few wobbly steps before he fell again, this time on his arse. Meanwhile, he could hear banging and yelling sounds coming from the lobby.

Cursing as steadily as his tongue would permit, Spike crawled to the door of the suite. He knelt up and, with some difficulty, managed to paw the knob open, and then he crawled down the hall as fast as he could. He was still naked.

The noises got louder as he proceeded down the corridor. He crawled down the stairs clumsily. The lifts had broken a few years back, and Angel had never bothered to fix them. Right now, Spike very much wished he had. When he got to the next flight he began another descent, but his arms and legs betrayed him and he went tumbling down. Something gave in his leg as he fell; he heard a loud _snap!_ and he screamed as a sharp pain lanced through him. He ended up on the bottom, panting and battered, his right fibula jutting at an unnatural angle. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make it down the final flight. And what could he possibly do when he got there?

Snarling in anger and nearly frantic with worry, Spike crawled down the hall, his useless leg dragging behind him. After what felt like years, he made it to the balcony, where he could look down at the lobby one floor beneath him. What he saw made him howl in rage.

A dozen or so people in black military-type uniforms were in the lobby. Half of them were sprawled on the floor with blood pooling around their motionless bodies. The remaining ones were fighting, throwing kicks and punches and hacking away with some serious-looking blades. Angel and Lindsey were whirling around with them. Angel was in game face, and he had a bloody broadsword in one hand and an iron mace in the other. Lindsey was swinging away with a flail. Both Angel and Lindsey were visibly wounded. It looked like one of Angel’s shoulders had been impaled and one of Lindsey’s arms was hanging awkwardly.

As Spike watched helplessly, Angel ran one of the men in black through with the sword, used his foot to push his mortally injured opponent away, and then ducked a stab from another man’s knife before bringing the mace down on the man’s back. Meanwhile, Lindsey stood in the center of a circle of four men, keeping them away from himself with the flail. The flail struck one of the men in the neck, and he fell to his knees, clutching his throat and screaming hoarsely.

If Spike had been in better shape, he could have hopped straight down from the balcony and joined in the fray. As it was, he could only huddle and watch impotently.

As Angel traded blows with one man, another circled behind him and hit him in the head, hard, with a metal club. Angel stumbled forward, blood spurting from his scalp, and the man in front yanked the sword out of his hands. But Angel spun and whacked the second man with his mace. Spike could hear the man’s spine snap and he dropped to the ground like a stone.

Lindsey was still holding two men off, but he had a nasty scalp wound that was sending blood sheeting into his face, obviously obscuring his vision. Angel stumbled over to him and kicked one of the men in black, sending the man flying across the room. He thudded against a wall and slid to the floor, leaving a streak of red as he went.

Lindsey had fallen to his knees but still tried to hold the remaining attackers off. Angel dropped the mace and tackled one of them. He grabbed the man and bent his head, clearly intending to rip the man’s throat open. But Lindsey and Spike both screamed at the same time: “Angel!” as the remaining man ran at Angel’s back, swinging the sword right at neck height. The rest happened very fast. Angel dropped his captive; Angel’s face was coated in gore. The man fell on his back and clutched weakly at his own throat, which was spouting like a small geyser. The vampire swung around. He would have been too late, though. The blade was nearly in place to decapitate him. But Lindsey lunged at the last man, wrapping his arms around the man’s knees and then shrieking when the sword ran him through instead. Angel fell on the man and nearly twisted his head off.

And then all was nearly quiet. Lindsey and Angel panted heavily, and a few of the men on the floor groaned. Angel quickly stalked around the room, snapping the necks of the men who were still breathing, then collapsed heavily against a support pillar. Lindsey was on the ground, clutching his belly, where the broadsword still protruded.

“Angel!” Spike yelled.

Angel snapped his head up and looked at Spike with wild eyes. “Stay there!” he thundered. Spike growled at him. It wasn’t as if he could do much else anyway.

After a few minutes, Angel stood straight and limped over to where Lindsey lay. “You gonna live?” he asked.

“Prob’ly. If you get this thing outta me.”

Angel eyed the sword for a second and then gave it a single hard yank. Lindsey screamed and Spike could see fresh blood blossom on his white shirt. With a sigh, Angel ripped off his own shirt—a light gray jumper—and used it to bandage Lindsey’s wound. Then he scooped Lindsey into his own arms—awkwardly, due to his injured shoulder—and began carrying him upstairs.

When he got one flight up, he looked over at where Spike was still hunched near the balcony. “What the hell happened to you?” he shouted.

“Stairs.”

“Goddamn it!” He sighed. “Don’t move. I’ll be back for you in a minute.” Spike watched him carry Lindsey upstairs. It looked like the man had passed out.

Soon enough, Angel returned. Spike tried to walk with his support, but with only one good leg, and that one dysfunctional, he couldn’t manage it, and Angel had to carry him, as well. “What…what happened?” Spike asked as they went upstairs.

“I was in the office. I think they just burst in the front door. Fuck. I’m gonna have to go down there and lock up and dump the bodies. After I patch everyone up.”

“You’re…hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t know about Lindsey.”

“No guns.”

“They don’t want the cops involved, I think.”

“More…more men?” Spike wanted to ask whether more attackers would be coming, but he couldn’t manage it. Fortunately, Angel seemed to understand.

“No, that’s it, for now, anyway. Damnit! I need to get a ward put on this place.”

“Red,” said Spike.

“She’s in Scotland, Spike.”

Spike rolled his eyes. He wasn’t _that_ stupid. “Call Red,” he said firmly. Spike had seen her work. He knew she was powerful enough that she could probably place wards from anywhere on the globe.

“Okay. Maybe she’ll know someone nearby who can help.”

Spike huffed in annoyance. If he ever did get mended, he was going to have a long talk with Peaches about listening to him once in a while.

By now they were at Angel’s suite. Angel laid Spike on the bed, and Lindsey was already there on the other side, unconscious and bleeding onto Angel’s expensive bedding.

Groaning at the pain in his own leg, Spike rolled onto his side and tried to assess how badly Lindsey was hurt. Angel grabbed a big container of blood from the fridge and swigged it down cold. Then he brought another over for Spike, who ignored it for the time being. Sodding cow blood was nearly useless for healing anyhow. Spike was able to help Angel a bit as he peeled off Lindsey’s clothes. The man had a lot of bruising that was just beginning to show, and would doubtless be spectacular by morning. He was sliced here and there, as well, mostly shallowly, but then he had a dislocated shoulder and that large hole in his abdomen.

Angel looked down at him, grunted, and in one smooth movement, wrestled his shoulder back into place. Spike thought it was lucky Lindsey was already out when Angel did that; Spike had dislocated his joints many times, and it always hurt like bloody hell to pop them back.

Muttering darkly to himself, Angel disappeared into the loo. He returned a moment later with his first aid kit. It was a large one; he and Spike had often needed patching up. He removed his ruined shirt from Lindsey’s torso, and Spike was glad to see the bleeding had already stopped. Angel poured some alcohol on the wound, gently rolled Lindsey onto his side, and dripped some more where the sword had exited. Then, with a bit of Spike’s help, he wrapped some bandages all the way around. He looked down at Lindsey critically. “He’ll live,” he said, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was pleased about that or not. He was probably right, though—Lindsey had proven himself remarkably resilient for a human.

His doctoring of Lindsey finished, Angel came over to inspect Spike’s leg. “Broken,” he grumbled. “Hang on.” He disappeared again, this time to rummage in his cupboard. Spike smiled when he saw what he was carrying: a black plastic leg brace. A few years ago, Spike had broken a leg in a fight with some Otrnars. Apparently, Angel had saved the brace after Spike’s leg mended. Now, Angel walked over. Spike gritted his teeth and swallowed a scream as Angel realigned the bone properly, and then Angel fitted the brace over his leg.

“You?” Spike said. He could see a nasty-looking injury in Angel’s shoulder, and his grandsire’s hair was matted with dried blood.

“I’ll be okay. I need to go take care of that mess downstairs and call Willow. Will you be all right?”

Spike nodded and fervently wished he wasn’t so bleeding useless. Angel leaned over and lightly kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

Spike finished off his blood and watched Lindsey for a time, and he’d fallen into a light doze when Angel returned looking exhausted. “You were right,” Angel said, kicking off his shoes. “Willow put up a ward. Should have asked her when we first arrived, damn it. But we’re safe now.”

“Good,” replied Spike.

“I need to clean up and crash for a while. I’ll get him some painkillers later.” He gestured at Lindsey.

“He saved you.”

Angel grimaced. “I know. I still don’t trust him. But I guess he can stay for now.” Spike felt a happy little flutter in his gut. He loved Angel, but he’d enjoyed his year with his pet, and he wanted to keep the man around.

Angel finished undressing, then took a short shower. He emerged naked and still dripping. It was a good look on him, without the poufy hair gel making his hair stick up. His injuries didn’t look too horrible. He glowered at the invalids in his bed. Spike smiled and scooted closer to Lindsey, patting the empty space beside him. The bed was big enough for three.

With a big, drama queen sigh, Angel slid in next to Spike and pulled the covers up. Spike lay on his back and listened to the breathing on either side of him. Even without touching them, he could feel the bulk of their muscles and the strength of their bodies. As he fell asleep, he was thinking about how nice it was to lie between them.

 

[Chapter Eight](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/43560.html#cutid1)


	8. Double Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[double crossing](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/double%20crossing), [spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Double Crossing, 8/8**_  
**Title:** Double Crossing   
**Chapter:** 8 of 8   
**Pairing: **Spike/Lindsey/Angel   
**Rating: **NC-17   
**Warnings:** m/m/m, bondage, torture, language   
**Summary: **Post NFA, Lindsey reappears, asking Spike for help. Trouble ensues.   
**Author's Note:** This is for [](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/profile)[**faketoysoldier**](http://faketoysoldier.livejournal.com/), who asked for S/L/A, karaoke, and the prompts smoke, microphone, cherry, and slip. I hope you like it! It's finished and I'll post updates daily. I'm in a terribly impatient mood, so please let me know if any mistakes slipped by me. Feedback is cherished.

Gorgeous, NSFW banner by [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Double+Crossing&filter=all).

**The last chapter. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I'll be posting a Spander take on _Rear Window_ on my LJ on Monday, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge.**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000205gs/)  
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Chapter Eight

 

Two days later, Lindsey was mending nicely. Angel had found him something to dull the pain, and then he’d moved him to the room across the hall from the suite. He left the doors open, so Lindsey could call if he needed anything, but for the most part the man seemed content to lay in a slightly drugged haze in front of the telly.

Angel had found a supply of human blood, all nicely sealed in plastic bags. It fixed all of his injuries, and Spike’s leg was already improved as well. But as far as Spike could tell, it hadn’t done anything for his brain. In bed that morning he’d tried to make love with Angel. But the cast was in the way and his cock stayed stubbornly limp, and in the end Angel had kissed him and stroked his shoulders and they’d simply fallen asleep. He still couldn’t even get out of bed, and he was ready to scream with frustration.

Angel sat next to him and cupped Spike’s chin in his hand. “I’ll get you better. I promise.”

Spike turned his head a bit so he could kiss Angel’s thumb. “Love,” he said.

“I promise,” Angel repeated.

 

Angel’s phone rang the next afternoon. He glanced at the number, snatched the thing into his hand, and scurried out the door. He must have gone some distance away, because even when he strained his ears, Spike couldn’t hear his conversation.

When he returned several minutes later he looked nervous as a bridegroom. He patted as his hair, ran his fingers down his shirt, and grinned crookedly at Spike. “I, uh, I have some business to take care of for a while. Will you be all right?”

“Where?” Spike asked, suddenly nervous at the prospect of being left with only the injured Lindsey as company.

“Just downstairs, Spike. I’ll hear you if you call, okay?”

Spike nodded and wondered what the old man was up to.

“Want me to put something on the tv for you?”

Spike nodded again. “Footie,” he said.

“I’ll see if there’s some on.” Angel clicked on the telly and surfed around until he found a channel that was showing the World Cup quarter-finals. Germany versus Brazil.

Spike sighed happily. “Ta.”

He had been watching for most of the game—well over two hours, in any case—when Angel returned. He stood in the doorway with an odd look on his face. “Spike? You, uh, have a visitor.”

Spike couldn’t imagine who would come to see him. Most of the people he’d met over his many years would be happy to see him dust. As his mind skipped over the possibilities, Angel looked out into the hall and then gestured toward the room, urging somebody in.

And Spike forgot to breathe.

The last time he saw her was over eight years ago, as he was dying. She was just as beautiful now, though there was more firmness about her jaw, and a certain hardness in her eyes. Her hair was cut in a practical bob that was quite becoming, and she had an uncertain little smile as she hovered near the door.

“Hi, Spike,” she said quietly.

If he could have, he would have run and hidden. He didn’t want her to see him like this, weak, crippled, damaged. He hadn’t even spoken to her in all this time. She had called once, perhaps four years ago, raving and furious because she had just then learned from Andrew that he had been resurrected after Sunnydale. But Spike didn’t want to speak to her, not then, and she had had to take her anger out on Angel.

A month or two later, he’d written to her. He explained why he hadn’t told her he still existed—he had wanted her to remember him as a Champion, and he’d realized that she needed to go on with her human life. Her world was complicated enough without undead boyfriends. He told her he would always love her and wished her well.

She wrote back. Her letter was six pages long, and some of it was breezy news about Dawn and the Scoobies and her life in Europe. But she also said she’d meant what she said to him that time—she truly had loved him, although not in the way he needed and deserved. She told him he was the bravest man she ever met, and would always be her Champion. He’d saved that letter, but it was lost, along with his small handful of other possessions, when he was kidnapped in Nebraska.

He swallowed and bit at his lip and silently cursed Angel. “Hello, Buffy,” he finally said.

Hesitantly, she came closer, until she was standing at his bedside. She rested her palm on his bare bicep, and he shivered a bit at the feel of that small, warm hand. “Can I sit?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She sat on the bed, her feet still on the floor. Angel pulled a chair close and he sat as well. “Angel told me what happened. I’m sorry.”

Spike shot Angel an angry look and then nodded at the Slayer. They were all silent for a time. Spike’s head was full of words he couldn’t have said even if his mouth had been working properly.

Finally, Angel cleared his throat. “I was, uh, thinking. Faith poisoned me once.”

“When she was evil,” Buffy interrupted. “She’s, like, totally good now.”

“When she was evil, Faith poisoned me. And what cured me was…Slayer’s blood. Buffy’s blood.”

Spike gaped at them both, because Buffy was merely nodding, clearly willing to go along with whatever scheme Angel had concocted.

“Not…not poisoned,” Spike said.

“No,” replied Angel. “But Slayer’s blood has, um, several special properties. You know that better than any of us.”

Spike scowled at this reminder of his own past misdeeds.

“It might help,” Buffy said, stroking his arm softly. “It’s worth trying, anyway. C’mon. You’ve been wanting a taste of me for years. Now’s your chance.”

But Spike shook his head. “Won’t…won’t hurt you,” he said to Buffy.

“Now, that’s the thing. You can take just a pint or so from me, okay? Because when it comes to Slayer blood, well, I took up a collection at the office. I’ve got a couple gallons sitting on ice downstairs.” She giggled. “Giles had to pull some serious strings for me to be able to bring that into the U.S.”

“You’re sure?”

“Don’t you think I’d give up a few red cells for my Champion?”

In the end, she gave him her wrist, and he kissed it and blissfully sank in his fangs. She hissed a bit but didn’t pull away. Angel watched, his eyes dark and his brow ridges nearly visible. Spike stopped when he knew he’d taken enough. She smiled, and slapped on a plaster that Angel handed her, and stood. “I, uh, I’m gonna call home now,” she said. She was blushing slightly, and Spike managed a leer. He expected she might be wanting more than a phone call right now. His cock had finally woken as he fed and was now achingly hard. Slayer blood was, indeed, a wonderful thing.

She stayed for two days, heating the rest of the blood for him in small batches and bringing it to him in a mug. It was heady stuff to be feeding on in such quantities and he tried to enjoy the orgy of taste he knew he’d never have again. But part of him was rather wishing she would leave, because he was feeling much better, and he was desperate for an orgy of another kind altogether. He felt like he could shag for a week nonstop. But Angel was keeping a careful distance during her visit, and Spike had no idea what, if anything, Angel had told her about their relationship.

When it was time for her to return to Scotland, he was able to walk down the stairs, slowly but unaided, to see her to the door. His body was nearly completely healed and his head enormously clearer. He still had quite a bit of her gift tucked away in the fridge, and was fairly certain he’d be whole within days.

Down in the lobby, she turned and smiled at them. “You know, if you guys had hooked up, like, a decade ago, we could have had some really…interesting times.”

Angel ducked his head in embarrassment but Spike just lifted one eyebrow. She smiled. “And don’t think it never crossed my mind, either, because the two of you together? Pretty hot.”

“Yeah?” Spike said.

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed. “Too bad. I’ve been kinda seeing this guy, and…. Well, I guess I always have my imagination.”

Spike laughed, and that felt bloody good. “Could send videos,” he said.

“Yeah? I know, like, thirty girls who’d probably kill to see those. And Xander—“ She clapped her hand over her mouth. “If you tell him I said that I’ll come back here and kick your ass.”

“Try it,” Spike grinned back at her.

She stepped closer and put a hand on each of their faces. “You two deserve to have love. Take care of each other, okay?” She stretched up and kissed Angel chastely on the lips, and then did the same with Spike. And then, with a final little wave, she picked up her bag and walked outside into the sunshine, where a cab was waiting for her.

 

Angel and Spike spent a good part of the next week in bed together, making love. Well, in bed, and on the floor, and in a chair, and up against a wall, and…and it was brilliant. Spike had trouble walking properly for an entirely new, and altogether more pleasant reason. And Angel looked sated enough that Spike nearly worried about the soul slipping, so he made sure to snark at his grandsire enough to avoid perfect happiness.

They knew they were experiencing only a momentary lull in the fight against Wolfram and Hart. But it was nice for now.

A week after Buffy left, Angel was downstairs in the office, leafing through old books and talking to Willow about spells that might come in handy against supernatural evil law firms. Spike was sitting at the small table in Angel’s suite, pad of paper and pencil in hand, making a long list of weapons that they might be able to obtain, and that might prove useful.

There was a knock at the open door. Spike looked up and his breath caught. Lindsey was standing there, nude, a small strip of black leather in his hand. His wound was already mostly healed. He’d always have a scar on his belly and a matching one on his lower back, but he was otherwise largely unscathed.

His head lowered, Lindsey entered the room. When he got to Spike, he placed the collar on the table and dropped to his knees. “Spike,” he said. “Master? Will…will you have me? Please?” He looked up, his blue eyes brimming with emotion.

Spike swallowed and put down the pencil and paper. “You don’t have to do this. You can stay, if you like. As a…colleague. A member of the team.”

“I will stay. But I’d rather belong to you. You don’t have to love me. Just…just use me. Want me.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I was happy when you were my Master. I didn’t have to worry about making the right decision—I ain’t never been any good at that. I just had to please you. It’s what I want to do.” His voice was pleading.

“You’d be content just being a fucktoy?”

“I’ll be content being _your_ fucktoy, if that’s what you want. If you want me to fight at your side, too, I’ll do that, I’d like to do that.”

Spike said nothing, only looking at the human before him. He’d been out in the courtyard this afternoon—the witch had included it within the wards—and he was slightly tan and smelling of sunshine and flowers and cut grass. His hair was in his face and his chin was a bit stubbly. His muscles were hard and his cock soft and sweet, nestled among the dark curls at his groin. And although there was no way to be certain—no way ever to be certain of this man—Spike believed he was telling the truth.

He reached over and picked up the collar. It was the same one he’d bought Lindsey, over two years ago. He unbuckled it and fastened it around Lindsey’s neck. “Thank you, Master,” Lindsey said, his voice hoarse with emotion. A tear had slipped from his eye.

Spike bent down and kissed him. It was a proprietary kiss, demanding yet not ungentle, and Lindsey parted his lips and moaned as Spike thrust his tongue inside. The man tasted of beer and sugar.

There were footsteps at the door. Spike broke off the kiss and looked over at Angel, who was expressionlessly taking in the scene before him. Lindsey remained kneeling, his hands clasped behind him, his head meekly bowed.

Spike wanted to explain, but he wasn’t sure he could find the right words even now. He loved Angel. It was Angel who made his bloody existence worthwhile. And to know Angel loved him back—that was more than he’d ever hoped for. But he also cared for Lindsey, and he fancied the way Lindsey seemed to need him in a way Angel never could. He’d fight for Lindsey if he had to, but he didn’t want to have to choose one over the other.

Angel came into the room and stared down at them. Spike steeled himself for what was to come: anger, rejection…he wasn’t certain.

Angel reached out his hand and lightly touched Spike’s hair, stroking it. “You want this?”

Spike looked up at him. “Yeah. It’s not…I still—“

“I know. It’s all right.”

Spike blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Lindsey to offer himself like this, and he certainly hadn’t expected Angel to accept it so easily. “You don’t—“

“Will. I love you. I want you to be happy. Being needed makes you happy, doesn’t it? Isn’t that part of why you stuck with Dru all those years, no matter how badly she treated you?”

“I expect so.”

“I don’t understand why, but Lindsey needs you.” He shook his head. “He makes a good little pet, too. And…and I guess we can use all the help we can get.” The last was said grudgingly.

Lindsey looked up through his fringe at Angel. “Sir? I’ll be good, I promise. And I can make Master happy.”

“Yeah, and make me unhappy. Which”—he sighed—“probably isn’t such a bad thing, under the circumstances. If you hurt Spike again I promise you I’ll tear off every shred of your skin and take that ice pick to your frontal lobe after all.”

“Yes, sir,” Lindsey said earnestly.

Spike stood and embraced Angel, who was slightly tense at first, but then yielded to hug Spike back. Spike thought that if he lasted another thousand years, he’d never grow tired of the feel of Angel against him. He moved his hands down until they were on Angel’s arse, and pulled his grandsire even closer so that they were nestled together. He licked Angel’s neck, and the big vampire shuddered slightly in his arms. “I could lend him to you,” Spike whispered in his ear, loud enough for Lindsey to hear as well.

Spike could feel Angel’s interest in that idea, as Angel’s cock grew firmer. But Angel said, “We have to plan, Spike. Wolfram and Hart—“

“Those tossers have been around thousands of years. They can wait a few more hours, love.” He knew Angel was wavering between duty and desire, so he nibbled lightly at Angel’s jawline.

“Will, I—“ Spike shut him up with a kiss.

Within moments, all three of them were on Angel’s big bed. Lindsey still had only his collar on, but he wore more than the vampires. Angel sat with his back against the headboard, his legs splayed slightly in front of him, as he played his fingers through Spike’s hair. Spike was on all fours, nursing slowly on Angel’s cock and rolling his heavy bollocks in his hand. Lindsey meanwhile, was underneath Spike, wanking him gently while tonguing his glans.

Still, Angel couldn’t quite give it up. “We need to figure out who their supporters are now and who can help us. I think those Britzai—“

Spike slid his mouth off of Angel’s dick with a loud slurp. “Liam. We’ll do it, I promise. We’ll make those twats wish they’d never heard of us. My pet will help, yeah?” Lindsey made an affirmative noise but didn’t stop what he was doing. “But will you shag me now? Please?”

Angel smiled. “I knew I could make you beg.”

An hour later, they lay in a sweaty, exhausted row on the bed. Spike’s softening cock was still buried inside Lindsey, while Angel’s was still buried in him. It felt bloody brilliant. Angel was biting gently at his shoulder with blunt teeth, making Spike’s sensitized skin shiver. He’d come so hard he nearly blacked out, and he wanted to never move again.

“Got an idea for a weapon,” Lindsey mumbled against his pillow.

“Yeah, pet?”

“Guaranteed to send those assholes running away with their tails between their legs.”

“Yeah?”

“Most horrifyin’ thing they’ll ever experience.”

Spike suddenly had an idea where this was going and he smothered a snicker against Lindsey’s back while reaching over to fondle Lindsey’s flaccid cock. He was going to have to punish Lindsey for what he was about to say, but he had the feeling that was why Lindsey was saying it. Angel was never in danger of losing his soul with the two of them around.

Angel stopped biting at Spike. “What?” he said impatiently. “What’s this great weapon?”

Lindsey gave a slow grin. “Vampire with a karaoke machine.”

 

 

_~~~fin~~~_


End file.
